Already Over
by Eternal-Night-Ride
Summary: "Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." - Ben Franklin. Snapshots of Ben 10 characters in a dystopic America. No aliens. Just character explorations.
1. Chapter 1

_Shatter_

_She thought it was the sound of the world shattering. _

Earlier, the night was filled with gunshots and screaming. So much screaming. The blurred colors of clothing breezing past were so dizzying. She spun along them, trying to keep her hold of the small hand in her own. So tiny she thought that the chorus of running and screaming was going to drown that away, force her to let go. Even if it probably hurt him, she kept her grip like iron.

The bag in her other hand had been swiped when she unloaded off the bus. That didn't matter. Something else was. It was gold and her IDs, documents, credit cards and cash were all rock in comparison. Her mind was focused, despite its confusion, on a little girl. So tiny.

She screamed until her voice was hoarse, trying to fight past the barrage of panicked shouts and stampeding feet. When the commotion died down, her being dragged some feet from the broken down bus from the swarms of people speeding off, she could look around. The black-haired woman held her son tightly around her arms; kept on gripping harder even in his whines of pain. Tears streamed down her face, sobs choked out from her throat, her mind and mouth repeating one name.

Her little girl. A piece of her heart had been _viciously stolen. _

She didn't know what allowed her to push on. As she stared at her son's dark green eyes; heard questions of where his sister was, she gathered courage to tell him they were looking for her. She was just lost. Her little girl was _just lost._

The forest was dark and frightening at night. Sometimes she feared that she was just getting lost herself. But she had to be strong. If her son knew that she was scared, he would be frightened too. So she continued with a brave face.

The gunfire hadn't stopped at the accident's location. It continued on. She occasionally saw them. They were wearing army issue uniforms. At first she reacted with confusion. She had thought to ask for help, but then the man had shot at them. Anger was her next reaction. She had to thank years of tennis that made her legs sturdy enough and fast enough to get both of them out of there.

It was a quick decision to distrust all of the men she originally considered authority. Whenever she saw one, she made sure they didn't have the time to hurt her or her son. Never fatally.

Someone else wasn't being quite as kind, though. She saw the bodies. She hid her son's eyes from them. Always made an excuse about why they were going another way. _Filled with thorns, that one, he'll scrape his poor knees. _

A man who was filching a dead person's - _no, honey, he's just sleeping_ - things had pointed a knife at her and demanded for her belongings. She had told him in all honestly that she lost everything in the stampede. He didn't believe her. He demanded for the ring on her finger. The image of a man with strong, hopeful green eyes flashed in her head. The same green eyes her beautiful little girl had. She felt herself bristle, her other hand covering the ring.

_No_.

The thief didn't take well to resistance and grabbed her baby boy. Her child crying in pain at the man's grip made her blood boil. Deciding to point the knife at her child's throat was his biggest mistake. Kicking the man in between his legs, the thief staggered backwards and grazed her boy's cheek. The blood that trickled down her baby's face angered her more, prompting her to quickly pick up a branch as the man moved to retaliate. Using both her hands to grip the branch, she hit the bastard in the face with all the force she could muster.

The commotion had caught the attention of a couple of soldiers. They shot at them from the trees. She couldn't see them. Her instinct was to dive forward and cover her son.

At some point, gunfire ceased. Raising her head, she looked around to see the soldiers' bodies splayed on the grass. In front of her was a man with a hood. Whatever light was in the area gave her a view of the white hair that fell around his face from under the cloth.

She stood up. She was so grateful. Brown eyes gleaming with happiness, she held her son's hand and tried to thank the man for saving her. Perhaps even request to follow him until they could escape the forest.

The movement of his arm was unceremonious, the man's expression entirely too emotionless. A shot was fired.

She staggered back and accidentally let go. When she looked back behind her, the sight of her baby boy crumpled on the ground greeted her. There was blood. So much blood.

The most piercing sound occupied her ears. She thought it was the sound of the world shattering. It was actually her, screaming in horror and grief.

She rushed to the boy. He was alright. _He was alright_. He just needed help. Maybe a doctor. Anyone. Someone in those group of people from the bus might still be out there to give help for her baby. Two steps and she was grabbed, her face muffled and her entire body carried. She struggled and struggled, kicked and elbowed, bit and scratched. The captor was just much stronger and he managed to take her away from that place.

Far away from where her son lay - _he wasn't dead, just hurt very badly _- she stared blankly on the puddle on the ground. One night and so much has changed from her. She looked horrible. Eyes bloodshot, greasy hair falling around her face and sticking on her skin because of mud, lips cracked and dry. She'd aged so much in a day. Her baby boy wouldn't recognize his mommy anymore. Kenny always called her the prettiest mommy ever. Her Gwen wouldn't like to play with that greasy hair.

From the back of her mind, she could hear his deep voice. It was as blank and monotonous as she felt.

He spoke about the ideal nature of the military facilities being placed in such a remote location. There was so much freedom of movement - she wished she could still scoff, but her soul was gone - in the area. He told her that she was ranked so low that she was probably on the priority list of who to _kill first_, along with her pathetic spawn. When he said those words, her hands clenched on the soil. She felt her long fingernails puncture her palms. Apparently, he helped her by disposing of the last one. She had potential. The government had much use for people who had - if not physical strength - at least some level of inherent strength they could draw to fight for survival.

Trailing her eyes towards him, even in her lack of interest to do anything anymore - even to live, she stared. His eyes were blood.

She should thank him, he said, for getting rid of her baggage.

With a broken sob, she pushed herself from the ground. The salt liquid falling down the side of her eyes sprayed when she launched herself at him. The only thing that rang in her head was the desire to _scratch his face off. _

_

* * *

_

The Devil You Know

People had a lot of things to say about letting go. It usually related to love. He guessed that in some way, those people were on the right track.

She kissed his lips, softly and sweetly. Even after years of marriage they usually stuck to embraces for signs of affection when in public. That was an odd day. It was partly out of the little known fact in his head, the one that made his heart race a million miles a minute, that he was willing to let go of the usual. They were at the bus station, his hands filled with the bags that she was taking to the vacation house - _did she really need all those shoes_? She placed her dainty fingers on his cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss goodbye. The slight flush on his cheeks were perhaps the only hints that this was something out of the ordinary.

In the corner of his eyes, he saw the little boy carrying her big handbag stick out his tongue and make puking sounds. His little sister was sleeping beside him, her head lolling down to rest on her brother's side. They looked so heartbreakingly normal, like the world was perfectly fine. Everyday of his life, he prayed that one day he would wake up and the only fear he would have around his children was if they were growing too fast.

Dark eyes stared back at him and glittered. They were so comforting, as a mother's always were, that it could fool him every time about the normalcy of the world. That the only horrible thing were the occasional fights on how he wasn't going to place a life-sized statue of his favorite video game character in the living room or things about the differences in their child-rearing. That the numerous cameras inspecting their every movement were innocuous, that the accidents were really _just accidents_. Sometimes, he wished he could just drown in her eyes and believe their innocence.

He embraced her again, just in case. He told her that he was going to follow soon after and that he just needed to take care of a couple of things. While he was the most allergic of documentation of the two of them, he offered to get all the stuff done so they wouldn't have trouble when they spent a few months of the summer in the next state. Due to the heavy restrictions of the System on everyone's movement, every step was practically monitored, all those steps needed paperwork.

Raising her eyebrow, she pointed out that if he hadn't put it off so late, he would have been coming with all of them. He just smiled in an embarrassed way that didn't give away that he put it all off on purpose. He was a good actor. While he couldn't lie on high stress situations, he trained himself to twist truths and to play personas so he wouldn't have to lie, _per se. _

The bus arrived. It was a large vehicle, much more than the usual. Several other families, other couples, other everyday people boarded the bus along with his family. He shoved the bags on the compartment at the top of their seat.

Affectionately holding his groggy little daughter in his arms, he kissed her forehead while she kept on trying to rub her eyes of sleep. His boy was a little more humiliated by his embraces and whined that he was a big boy now and that he didn't need a kiss. Ken rolled off his arms and sat himself over to the other side of his mother. Reaching out, he ruffled the boy's messy dark brown hair. Before he left the bus altogether, he still couldn't help but try to squeeze his wife's hand to comfort himself.

They were going to be fine. They had all the documents needed to get past the borders, they weren't going to resist the procedures and everything was going to be smooth sailing.

_Just in case_.

A man with a suitcase and a hooded jacket was about to enter the bus but stopped beside him. They were standing a certain distance, just to make sure the driver knew this guy was taking a ride but not blocking the rest of the passengers from entering. Said man's face soured at the sight of him and looked at him distastefully, as if the minute long conversation Ben was about to share was taking one minute too long.

Even when they were younger, looking at this guy's face was like staring at a mirror. A disfigured one, where it changed the color of his features and changed his expression drastically.

This guy should _really stop_ introducing him to others and greeting him as his retarded, genetically inferior brother. Losing interest at his twin's insults, he gripped the man's shoulder and muttered at him to _remember what this was about_.

The smirk was ingratiating. While Kevin's was particularly irritating to Ben, this was probably worse. It was hard to forget those instances of seeing the same smirk be directly accompanied with him getting in trouble or being harmed in some way.

The babysitting was never a part of his job description, the white-haired man had responded coolly, taking care to emphasize how much he was owed now.

His brown hair barely shifted when his head nudged in acknowledgment. Then he pointed out that his twin was just paying off the fact that Ben had saved him from being jailed after his last stint. What with all those forged paperwork that let him get reinstated in his line of work, then not being hunted down by the System, the debt was the other way around.

As his twin was about to make another retort on racking up debts, the ticket inspector on the bus called out that the bus was about to leave.

He watched his brother snort, pull the hood around his face tighter with his free hand and lift the suitcase with his other hand.

With that man's record, he was probably even less trustworthy than even his black-haired, ex-convict, government-spy friend. One thing that ensured Kevin to become less unpredictable was the fact that he was too smitten with Ben's cousin to do anything stupid.

His brother sat quietly behind his wife and she took no notice of it, paying more attention to Gwenny introducing to mommy all the new dolls her daddy gave. Kenny was pulling at one of her toys' hair and making faces, keeping his wife busy. As the bus moved to leave, his brother just pulled out a book from inside the case and proceeded to read.

The man looked so normal. But looks could be deceiving, as Ben himself could attest to. He wasn't outright sadistic like Kevin could be, but his ruthless nature showed when he was crossed.

The first time their parents took notice, really finally took notice, was when his brother beat the tar out of one the bullies who dared insult him for his crowning glory: his intelligence. He was there too and one of the people who had tried to pull his brother off the kid before the bully's skull caved in. _It was gruesome._ Their parents were called in and were told that the kid suffered extreme injuries that his brother inflicted _deliberately_. It would have been fatal had nobody gathered the courage to intervene.

He just managed to get worse as he grew older. He was disinterested about their grandfather, who had been extremely kind to him. Grandpa's death had only been met with a blank look and a cold remark about his age that apparently should've made Ben expect it already. In response, he furiously lunged at his twin and tried to punch some sense, some _empathy_ out of him. Their parents' deaths barely affected his twin, which was something Ben _truly _begrudged him for.

He didn't know if maybe his brother was right and that he was so painfully stupid. After all, he still had a piece of his heart willing to believe that his brother wasn't truly that monstrous.

The bus continued on its way, disappearing on to the horizon. His family needed protection from the constant looming threat of the totalitarian government. At the very least, his brother was _the devil he knew._

* * *

Inevitable

**I'll wrap my hate around your heart**

**Why would you tear my world apart?**

**I see the blood all over your hands, **

**Does it make you feel more like a man?**

**Was it all just a part of your plan?**

The resistance movement was a futile exercise. It was like a small creature struggling under the foot of a much larger, more toothed monster. One had to commend the vermin for its insistence to flail and bite but it was evident in the end that it was simply a matter of prolonging the inevitable.

The same way that the rebels were an exercise in futility, all the occupants of that bus applied to that analogy. He had nothing against them. To be honest, he couldn't really bothered to give a damn about them. The only people he allowed to take some space in his periphery were the people his brother told him to baby-sit. Mouth skewing to the side, he flipped the page of the book more forcefully than necessary.

To reiterate, he had nothing against these people. Though he was still a scientist and there was a little curiosity behind watching their stupid, inane worries on their everyday lives. Especially when the border inspectors entered the bus and requested the documents. He had to bite off the derisive chuckle when some overweight woman complained about the heat since the bus remained open while inspection was going. Air-conditioning and soft comforts were the least of their problems now.

Handing his documents to the officer, there was quick flicking through the papers. The paperwork was returned to him and his baggage was inspected. A lot of questions were raised on why he needed all those equipment. He answered the questions, trying to control the instinctive muscle twitch in his eye as he responded. Luckily, the inspector was too busy looking through his materials for possible weapons to notice his nervous tic.

Occasionally, he allowed his eyes to travel to the woman on the seat in front of him. She was on the side closest to the aisles, speaking gently towards the inspector as if they were old friends. The answers she gave were completely honest and she was open about everything. Finally chiding himself for looking at something so unimportant, he redirected his attention to the inspector, whose facial expression changed minutely. She didn't take notice of it. _Nobody did_.

Nonetheless, his jaw clenched reflexively and he sat himself firmly on the cushioned seats. It was the only indication that he was readying himself for the events that would take place not too long from then. The inspectors left the bus. He kept his suitcase beside him, even if the man on his right stared at him as if he was being inconvenienced by the bag's presence.

Exactly an hour and twenty one minutes, a firecracker sound echoed and the bus lurched.

On the subject of comparisons, he was very different from his intellectually inferior, starry-eyed brother. While that man would do everything in his power to keep those passengers together and optimistically persuade them to assist each other like a big happy united group, he just watched.

Another shot. Nobody seemed familiar with the sound of gunfire produced from smaller calibers and he just rolled his eyes at their ignorant questioning at what the noises were. He just kept his iron grip on the suitcase and his gaze on the woman - who tossed her head from side to side in as much confusion as everyone else. The worry in her dark eyes was just so unfitting. Determined strength or soft, kind expressions were more _her. _

Her head turned when one of her children, he assumed it was the girl, asked about the sounds. When he couldn't look at her anymore without appearing nosy, his mouth flattened to a thin line.

He always wondered what in the world his brother did to convince this woman to marry him. She was relatively more intelligent than the twit and there wasn't anything truly interesting or attractive about the man. Hardly anything changed about his brother. Upon returning, he still found the dimwit obsessed with childish games and repulsive tasting cold drinks. The man was still too idealistic for his own good and still believed in the influence of his measly rebellion. If he wanted, he could still probably trick his twin into drinking iced toilet water or direct him to falling into a manhole.

Yet somehow, the idiot managed to put a coherent sentence together that allowed this woman to agree to spend the rest of her - likely going to be miserable - life with his twin. Miracles did happen, it seemed.

His line of thought had travelled, his mind trying to occupy itself from the boredom of the driver and his assistant attempting to replace the tyres while the passengers complained. It was getting dark. They were frightened about being confined to an isolated location and looking like sitting ducks. If he was interested in getting them to make more noise, he'd just confirm their fears. He kept his mouth shut and just placed his head on his hand in irritation. The only reassuring idea was that it wasn't long before they were all forced out of that bus.

His mouth tugged to one side when another shot was fired. The driver fell down dead. It took a few seconds before the screaming erupted. More shots. The ticket inspector also crumpled to the grass. They all finally _understood. _

The shots were being targeted on the inside of the bus, random people were just being killed from being wedged on their seats. He had ducked down instinctively. Taking advantage of the confusion and panic, he also took the opportunity to get the woman in front of him to crouch down while the first shots were fired. This cue was enough for her to pull her kids down too.

The people were pushing and trying to run out of the bus. They knew being in there was only going to trap them. Of course, their negative mob IQ also made them think that having a stampede was a good course of action. As he was pushed and kneed, he cursed angrily at the panicking fools.

When one of them trampled on his brother's wife, making her produce a pained scream at being hit, he indiscriminately shot his arm out. The next idiot to run over them fell. The ensuing panic didn't stop just because of a person falling - they simply trampled over him.

Losing patience, he pulled at her collar for her to stand. She followed through and got her kids to stand too. Her children were frightened, just staring at the chaos of people running, pushing and hurting each other out of the basic instinct to survive. Pushing his brother's family out in the flow of rushing people, he elbowed and punched his way through the people to make a wider space for himself. He just produced a short chuckle when the person he hit fell at the force.

At some point, the shoving from the throng had made him accidentally let go of the woman's shirt. For a time, he was just furious as he tried to fight past the crowd so he could locate her again. After being pushed farther into the forest as the passengers scattered, he stopped short. Looking around he found her in a clearing nearby, clutching her son while looking around desperately for the other child.

She returned to the bodies that had been trampled on the stampede before quickly getting herself and her son out of there. This quick inspection probably made her conclude that her other child was alive. _He doubted it. _

Instead of providing help, he allowed her to travel a while on her own. She did rather well, which just managed to impress him more. Honestly, he had no idea what qualities his brother scraped off the barrel to blind this woman into marriage.

Keeping tabs on her, he also quickly infiltrated one of the observation towers to hack into the military's information database. He was able to gather the ranking system and was congratulatory to himself at his low position on the priority list. After all, cleaning up his records actually _worked. _It would change eventually, he told himself as he picked up the weaponry the men carried in the tower.

He returned back to observe the woman's progress. All the while, he multi-tasked and made sure to assist the military by convincing them number one _wasn't _number one.

Eventually, she travelled close to one of his objectives. The military wasn't interested in killing this one but _he was. _The man had an extensive criminal record. The only reason why he crossed the border successfully was because of that training session.

Knitting his pale eyebrows and scowling at the heavy weapon in his hand, he hissed at the inefficiencies that was inherent in its design. He really should talk to the weapons' manufacturer of the government to maintain their quality even if it was just rookie-issue calibers.

His psychiatrist said that his amygdala was very low functioning and it explained why he only looked at this much taller, burlier, overly tattooed criminal with slight annoyance. The annoyance was only because he was eyeing the woman as if she was some kind of meat. _And really. What disrespect. _

He pulled the trigger. The silencer was enough to prevent his brother's wife from thinking anything was unusual. At least that part of the gun was still functional.

There were a few times that her pursuers - criminal or military - faced him first. Which was why he had the chance to kill them before they did anything stupid. The others were killing simply because they were opportunistic; wanted to steal and there was resistance or because they just wanted to kill. Soldiers were ordered to dispatch as many as they could and also to bring in those on their priority list. A constantly changing priority list anyway, now that he shook up the game a little.

He raised an eyebrow at her desire to keep her child blinded to the carnage around them. This was rather fruitless anyway. The child wasn't a part of _his plan_.

A thief. It was a petty thief that coaxed him to finally show himself. The military had been honing on killing this woman a long while now. But they were increasing their measures and setting their sights. There was more than the usual that pursued her this time after she knocked out the thief that threatened to hurt her child in place of her ring. _Which honestly, she could have just given away since it was just a rock. _She had made too much noise in the process.

She was so celebratory when he had disposed of her potential killers. Not so much when he finally decided to get rid of the boy.

Muffling her loud shrieking, ignoring the kicks she delivered on his legs and the bites she made on his palm, he dragged her out of that location before the snipers pinpointed her purely by her screech.

After calmly explaining the situation to her, she finally raised her head to him. He'd never been able to properly look at the woman face to face. He was only able to look at her far away and had never been appropriately introduced. He didn't know exactly what he said that did it. The blank expression on her face changed very subtly.

His own eyes widened when she jumped at him and attacked. A scratch on his face, a kick on his gut, a punch on his chest and he'd finally had enough.

_What an ungrateful bitch. _

He grabbed her arm and punched her on the middle. She fell to the floor unconscious.

Here, they haven't even exchanged names yet. While she did look better up close, he preferred her quiet like that. Out of his own personal bias, he still refused to draw the parallels between her, the other passengers or the rebellion.

Either way, she'd eventually learn that the outcome of his plan was inevitable. Which was why she was a little bit smarter than those idiots. Not that he could say he was on expert on her, but he knew for certain that she was actually a vermin willing to _compromise_.

**I love you, I hate you,**

**I can't get around you, **

**I breathe you, I taste you, **

**I just can't live without you. **

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Pairings: Ben/Julie, Gwen/Kevin, Albedo/Julie, Myaxx/Tetrax, Charmcaster/Mike


	2. Chapter 2

In the Beginning

He _hated _Gwendolyn with a passion. That went for just about every one of his so-called family members anyway. Until that day, he still wondered how he managed to come from such a circus. When they were children, people seemed to have a misinterpretation that because they were both intelligent and disliked his brother/her cousin, they would somehow get along. These people were _wrong. _

Gwendolyn was only smart for a given value of it. He didn't make the point of changing his tune around her, which she considered disrespectful and condescending. He just blinked at her pointedly as if she wasn't quite getting the idea. She visibly bristled a moment before she toppled the box of chili fries in his hands into his face. At ten years old, that pretty much set the grounds of their interaction.

Trying to endanger his cousin's life at ten was a little presumptuous. After all, she could beat him up in different creative ways with her martial arts. This gap was bridged more recently. That was, if he was armed. He may have physical strength and a bit more experience than when he was ten, but he had to begrudgingly admit that his cousin was faster and nimbler. When they were younger, he always had things pre-planned to torment her. It never escalated too far to something deadly because he always forgot how much of a spanner in the works his brother could be.

Occasionally, just out of spite, she would just use a reflective mirror in his direction and it was probably enough to make him flinch back. He hated the truth that they were family, which gave her enough history on his weaknesses. Otherwise, he wouldn't be at that much of a disadvantage as he was.

_What kind of horrible deity decided to greet him with his irritating cousin when he had to request audience with the rebellion? _

__

_

* * *

_

When the message came up on Cooper's screen that day, coincidentally having Gwen looking from behind him, her eyebrows knitted at the blank sender box. He was supposed to be showing her a new design for a program that would increase the security of the computers in the headquarters. Helen was just hanging around behind them, supposed to accompany her to the libraries to get some newbies inducted. Cooper's excitement at his first tryout of the system in the small section of Los Soledad coaxed her to give it a look, especially at his beaming pride at it.

Then a message came through. An unrecognized sender, which the computer took a while to gather its information. This made the previously thrilled expression on Cooper's face dissolve. After a few moments, the computer returned whatever it decoded from its origination. One word appeared after the computer finished tracking back: Ultimatrix.

Gwen's delicate eyebrow raised. Cooper had no idea what it meant and she told him that he'd done a good job getting that much from it. They decided to open the message, even with Cooper's belief that it might contain some malware or the other. But he was confident his program wouldn't be affected by it anyway.

She doubted he would send something like that. This guy wanted his message _read. _Said message was brief. It asked for the location to access the underground headquarters since they'd taken down the ones he knew, the blueprints of Los Soledad's structure, then it ambiguously gave a time and date. It was punctuated with words that were subtly mocking and contemptuous, which allowed Gwen to find out that this was definitely _him_. The after note simply told the person who received the message to redirect it to Ben, who knew what to do.

She decided that this wasn't necessary. Praising Cooper for a job well done on his new system - the younger boy flushing as she said her compliment, she turned around. With a nod to Helen, they finally walked to the library. All the while, she was typing a note on her phone about the meeting just so she could greet the proverbial prodigal son. _Or should she have said cousin? _

On exactly that time and date, a man in a hooded jacket was being barred from entry. He was simply standing there impatiently, arms crossed at the people pretending to be miners. From where Gwen was, she heard them ask for his permit, identification papers and tell him proper gear was necessary if he really was a worker there.

Kevin was walking by her side, dunking the contents of a can of beer into his mouth in one go.

She flatly berated him, "It's specifically laid out on the ground rules of the organization to not drink during work time. That's the first thing you get told when they introduce you to this place."

He responded cheekily, "You like my rule-breaking, roguish charm and you know it." as he crushed the can in one hand and chucked it at the general direction of his side. They were at the part of headquarters that was at least made to look like the tunnel of a mine.

She rolled her eyes at this before finally facing the men blocking her cousin from entering.

"He's okay," was the first thing she said. "Let him through."

The not-miners who served as guards through the entrance of that particular tunnel, looked at her and conceded. The space they provided to let her cousin pass allowed him to finally take notice of the person greeting him.

"You," he said with equal parts questioning and annoyance.

"Yes, me," she replied in a way that suggested she was trying to annoy him more.

"Where's Ben?" he demanded impatiently, crossing his arms as if he was still that rebellious fifteen year old that she routinely disillusioned by kicking his butt.

"Somewhere around here," she said dismissively, shrugging. "You're not even going to say hi to your favorite cousin?"

"What gave you the idea that you were?" he questioned irritably, looking around for anyone else other than her.

It was nice to know her cousin still couldn't stand her.

Of course, that was because they were family.

Gwen had barely any family left since that slow down spiral after Grandpa Max had died. She didn't hear or see anything of Grandma Verdona since then and she had no idea if her Grandma was still alive. Gwen was definitely Grandma's favorite grandchild for a few reasons and she was the one who took most notice of the disappearance.

Then her parents were also forcibly taken from her. Much the same way Uncle Carl and Aunt Sandra had been made to disappear. At the very least, her dad had some basic inkling and had given her and Ken some vital pieces of knowledge to make sure they got through. But her cousins got the less generous trade-off. Their parents were simply too optimistic to consider it happening. But all four of them were inducted, one way or the other.

Aunt Camille and Uncle Joel took them in. These were people who were a lot more closely related to the rebellion. People who had better idea of what was happening. They'd given them even better security and hid them under wraps from the government who knew the Tennyson name all too well. They had been made children of the 'Mann' family back then - adopted of course.

That was when the problematic cousin decided to leave the 'circus' that was his family. They were all very close-knit, but her white-haired somewhat sociopathic cousin had always been detached from them. He left with no word of where he was going.

It was a normal day travelling with her brother Ken to a farm in the next state that she encountered her first training mission. It was beyond brutality.

"_God, you should've seen it back then in that summer with Grandpa. Ben was so annoying."_

_Laughter. "I can imagine!"_

"_Doing all those farm chores so early in the morning. I thought I was gonna die. Seriously."_

"_Well, isn't this great?" An impertinent, teasing eyebrow. "This vacation's gonna be filled with _

_so much nostalgia." _

_She slapped his arm. "Ken!"_

_Something popped and the bus lurched. _

_His face grew serious._

"_What was that?"_

_He turned to her, dark green eyes wide. "Gwen-" He was cut off by the sound of gunfire_.

She'd been one of those people put into training and education while Ben and Ken - and when Albedo was still there, him too - were out actually seeing the action. She'd always been childishly irritated by the fact that she wasn't allowed out yet, but it eventually dawned that it was because her medical training was extremely vital. She was by far going to become the most formidable ally in the rebellion. It just needed a little bit of patience.

The training session was methodical, swift and heartless. It was like shooting ducks in hunting season, except with people. Her blood boiled at the idea that these were rookies, being given some innocent moving targets to kill.

She was just one person. Even her brother was just one man. They worked very hard to protect each other and get out of there. It was a horrible luck of a day - poor visuals, no weapons and injury-ridden that they were - that had caused what happened. Her brother died in her arms. For a long time, she just held him, trying to ignore the bright red on his body - almost as brilliant as his hair. Her anger and grief fuelled the adrenaline in her veins.

She got out of there by the skin of her teeth. She later found out that she was considered 'processed' because they never found her.

Luckily getting in contact with Aunt Camille, she was hidden in Los Soledad while they gave her a new identity. It was getting harder to do so. She had to stay there for months like a truly dead woman. Ben was the first to meet her when she returned. For hours, she just beat his chest and screamed until she was hoarse. Threw things until her body and soul was tired. He was there for her, strong and stable so that there was something to hold onto. He decided to have his name changed too.

All of those things happened while the prodigal cousin gallivanted off to who knew where. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. It looked like he was itching to see his brother though.

Or maybe just itching in general. She curiously stared at him rubbing against his arm impatiently as he looked around.

"Those are some pretty nasty sunburns," she commented observantly, honing in on the hints of skin that showed under the jacket when he scratched.

He stopped rubbing and stared gravely at her. As if slightly aggravated by the need to do so, he asked, "Where's the infirmary?"

Green eyes sharpened for a split second. Even more curiosity. Her cousin came here for medical attention. He looked like he was sneaking around, which was probably a hint of another attempt to lay low. This guy had more of a story to tell than he was letting on.

"Come with me," she said gently, gesturing with her head through the tunnel. She looked at the incredibly inquisitive Kevin by her side who was looking at her cousin like he'd never seen something like it before. Looking up at her white haired cousin, she pointed at the dark-haired man beside her. "By the way, this is Kevin Levin."

"Hey," was Kevin's brief greeting, like he absolutely didn't care. She rolled her eyes.

Her cousin looked at her companion from head to toe, both eyebrows raised impertinently. Then scoffed after this brief inspection.

She could already see a vein breaking out on Kevin's forehead.

Kevin sunk down to Gwen's height so he could murmur to her, "Tell me you don't like this guy so I can flip his guts inside out."

"Kevin," she whispered impatiently.

"I can hear you perfectly," her cousin retorted.

"Great!" Kevin responded with equal venom.

"I'd like to see you try," her cousin added again, sharp red eyes glaring back at the black ones who were as excited for a confrontation.

She heard the knuckles crack. "Nice ta know I got the invitation."

There was much staring at the ceiling from her. _This was going to be a long day. _

_

* * *

_

Kevin didn't give two shits about all the politics happening around him when he dealt in illegal firearms distribution. He was wigged out by some of his friends actively going buddies with the government, just so that they could get legit and not get their sorry butts dragged into jail. Kevin just didn't like the System's nosiness so he convinced himself he wasn't going to play government dog anytime soon.

Something radically changed when he tripped up some military related crap while playing neutral party and offering some high demand, good quality weapons to the other team. They called themselves Incursions, one of those extremist subsets of the opposing country - one of them. There were a lot that the System seemed to be hell-bent on getting to see reason. By reason, that was just give their resources and be happy that they weren't bombed for cooperating sorta reasoning.

Kevin knew that stuff. It made some kinda twisted, stupid sense. A person just gotta get happy not being bombed, imprisoned, tortured and some such nowadays. On the flip side, he could get some nice little profit during the chaos. He wasn't if not opportunistic.

It wasn't like he was actively trying to cause this people trouble or hurt. It ain't his business. His business was giving people shit that they wanted and he got paid for it.

Sure, it was way fun when people who rubbed him the wrong way got into trouble. But that was another story. It was easy to get people into trouble when he had government buddies who got his back on this kinda stuff. Eventually he'd realized that opportunity opened way up when you were on the side of the guys pretending to be good. Because seriously, who nowadays was actually good? What kinda dumbass dope was actually clean?

He was kicked out of the house for being a destructive kid. He barely touched the surface of the seriously fucked up shit that was happening when he got into the business. Playing Mr. Spy for the high ups - and hey, he could be smooth wannabe James Bond for the ladies - was an interesting experience. Until he found his dad's name in one of the people the government 'processed'. That was like nice word for hunting down, locking them up and killing them. That's when he got pissed.

By pissed, he meant that he would find the crony those bastards sent on his dad and kill him slowly in a span of days. At first, he just wanted to go and burn those sons of bitches. But he calmed down, ya know. Somebody gotta give him credit for that. He tried to get more outta what happened to his dad and realized Devin Levin was part of a much larger group. Just nicknamed Plumbers on the official data. _Okay, so his dad fixed toilets and got offed for it?_

Then he did a bit more looking around and one of his buds was closely connected to the group. Now that kid coulda got himself in a lotta trouble, mostly because Kevin was the jerk who would call in trouble if he wasn't given the info he needed. His buddy specialized in forging papers, being government crony and all, so he knew about those Plumber guys.

That's when he got to know some info on other suspected and previous 'processed' Plumber guys. Gwen Tennyson who was dead, but wasn't. Her older bro who was definitely six feet under, according to his reluctant buddy. But there was also her annoying cousin Ben who was supposed to be dead too but wasn't.

See, he was a practical guy. The kind who used up resources when they were there sorta person. He needed some leg up, he got some leg up. 'Bout keeping all that friendship stuff is a little more on the maybe-side.

So he decided to make friends with Gwen and Ben, who were now Freeman by last name. He laughed so much at the stupid of that name until it got old and Gwen exhausted her reserves of glare.

"_Are you done?" Raised orange eyebrow. Lovely thing you'd want to bite right off for being so annoying and exciting all at the same time. _

_The laughs finally sighed off. "Yeah, I'm out._"

But he got to know them. Gwen most of all because Ben ticked him the fuck off. While all he originally wanted was to make someone pay for his dad's death, things changed rapidly. It was like something snowballed outta control. He gave his assistance to those rebellion people and he got his help tracking down his dad's killer. Pretty easy enough on paper.

It was a mission that started it off. They were all like the subtle sneaky bunch of guys who went around with their heads ducked down as they sniffed for stuff against the System. He was the insider with info and background on the prison while Gwen was the medic of the sent out group that he backed up. She was a heck of a lot more useful than playing nurse for the idiots who got scraped in the battle and he gotta admit he was proud of the girl.

It was when you realized real life was real life when these soldiers didn't play gentlemen on medics. She was putting up a pretty good fight with her martial arts know-how for a time. But when there were two of them that were armed and she lost her own weapon in the scuffle, a gun was pointed at her head.

**Not cool. **He wasn't supposed to be part of the fighting group but push came to shove here. A jumping kick, a punch to disarm one of them and the guy who was pointing a gun at her head faced him. His own hand at his gun, he pressed the trigger before the soldier did on his own gun.

Gwen stumbled aside as the dead soldier slumped down in front of her. Kevin was going to shoot the other one too but Gwen's quick arm movement to catch his hand caused him to stop.

"_No."_

For a few seconds he just stared at her. Stuff changed in those few seconds because he actually got stupid enough to listen. He used the butt of the gun to knock out the soldier instead.

She waved a hand for them to leave.

From then on in, he was following her everywhere. Because, fuck it, he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit he kinda liked the bossy, goody-goody nurse of the rebellion. Not the other one - whose name was Xylene. That old crone ain't his type anyway and she wasn't completely all nurse and stuff. She was more like medical scientist bullcrap like that. But whatever. Not her, anyway.

It had been a couple of years since that moment. He'd been working double agent for the rebellion and filching vital info from the government as sneaky as he could. He was getting away with it so far. She had to be grateful that he was putting his neck out this much just for her silly little rebellion.

But she ain't convincing him to like other people. He was just getting used to Ben nowadays and he wasn't feeling like beating the tar out of his not-best friend. But this guy looked exactly like Ben but with all the means for an actual confrontation. Which was like 'better' in his vocabulary.

Gwen grabbed his arm.

"What?"

"No."

"Why not? He's asking for it."

"No, he's not," she snapped, glowering at her cousin and redirecting her attention there. "You have to play by the rules of Los Soledad if you want to stay here for very long." Not-Ben scoffed. "You want to talk to Ben, right? Don't mess it up with this."

Not-Ben waved a hand dismissively.

The guy was getting on his nerves fast. He was one of those cocky, prissy little shits who pretended they were better'n everybody. He didn't like those people.

He knew someone like that by the name of Mike Morningstar; who had attempted to infiltrate into rebellion ranks. But he knew scum when he saw it, even if the guy glittered like an 80s sparklefag. He also knew a double agent when he saw one because it took one to know one. He's a traitor for the System, and that guy was a traitor for the rebellion. Same difference.

It just naturally ticked him off seeing guys like that.

Traveling into Los Soledad tunnels made him spend more time with the arrogant Ben-faced cousin than he really wanted. At first he'd been curious about the guy, but two seconds in and he just wanted to punch the guy a new hole.

The only great thing on that guy's side was that Gwen was there and he wasn't going to kill her family in front of her.

* * *

"Three HQs assimilated in record time," he began coolly. A flick of his head towards the other man displacing his white bangs in front of his face. "The government is quickly honing in on Los Soledad territory. They may not know you by name yet but they're starting to recognize the company you keep." Snide now. "Have you considered maybe, I don't know, dismantling, your tailing organizations?"

The brown-haired identical man responded incredulously, "Are you kidding? And risk putting these people out in the open? The system's gonna shoot them all out."

An equally incredulous snort. "Haven't you killed them already? I seem to remember that news about the HQs being torn down."

In a cool tone that his white haired twin was surprised matched with his own, "I didn't expect it. I took action as quickly as I could when I got a report."

Flatly, he responded, "Yes, you had a massive relocation of all the useless while you suggested the majority of your actual men to hold the fort and destroy leads. That, for the one you received a report on."

"Those people were families: the young and the old," the brunette defended, shaking his head in disbelief that his brother would even suggest any other option. "They had to be prioritized."

"Now you have numerous hangers on that risk you more than you get any progress out of." More sarcasm. "Well done."

With great frustration, that aged his brother's naturally youthful face, the man cried out, "You don't understand what it is to take care of kids - heck, to take care of people. What you'd use as a tactic is turn my forces into a battering ram." He swiped a hand in the air expressively, something that his twin was more likely to do. It was a sign of increasing aggravation for the rebel leader. "You can blab on me getting my men killed slowly while you'll kill them faster."

Even more defensive, he bristled at the suggestion and retorted, "I may get them killed faster but it would actually produce visible results. You're still here hoarding information and preserving your bare-thread peace." Looking at his brother through his nose, he continued, "You know that matter ended with Afghanistan. All the system understands now is the language of gunfire and you're pussy-footing about it!"

As if a an old wound has just been scraped back open, the brunette's shoulder s moved up and down as if breathing deeply to calm himself. "I've shot enough people to explain why!" was the edgy reply.

Snorting disbelievingly and condescendingly, he remarked, "You hold this morality and it won't ever help you free these people you're trying to protect." An afterthought. "Besides, you have as much experience with children as I do. Stop acting like an expert." A white eyebrow was raised.

"I've been married for six years now," his brother replied flatly, crossing his arms. "I have two kids."

He blinked once. Twice. "... And I know nothing about this somehow."

"I would've sent you the invite to the wedding and the birthdays if I knew where you were. Or your new name." He paused as if the scepticism was unbelievable he needed a moment to process the information. "I mean, Emilien? Seriously?"

He took the opportunity to scathingly comment, "I knew you wouldn't be able to pronounce it right."

"It's French; duh!"

"And you're my mentally challenged brother. Goes to show."

The rebel leader stared at the ceiling for a while to stop the inclination to childishly jump into a fistfight with his brother, or at least that's what he assumed it was for. Either that or his brother was just trying to connect two brain cells together, which he understood took a while. "Can we stop with the name-calling and get to the point?" his brother said finally.

"I'm done. I'm waiting for your point."

Clearing out his throat, the brunette started to say, "About the family I was telling you about earlier -"

He cringed. _Ugh._ "I'm not that excited about meeting them. We don't have to go through that awkward process of meet and greet. I don't care."

"I don't care if you don't care," was his brother's quick response to his discomfort. Of course, he had to glare. "Besides, you don't have to pretend to be a civil human being in front of them. I don't have the time or the excuse to get them to meet you without being noticed. Especially with that thing about your status right now."

"Good call. Inconspicuous is not you."

"Gee, thanks," his brother stated flatly, getting increasingly irritated at him again. Insulting his brother's intelligence or subtlety never got old.

Snidely, he added, "We were just talking earlier about getting to the point. Tell me to wake up when you've finished your prologue."

It was a quick answer that he received: "My family's going through State borders. I can't go there because of the mission through Guantanamo -"

Slapping his forehead, he snapped at his idiot brother, "You're continuing the infiltration procedure through that processing camp? You keep mobilizing while the System's eye is on you!"

"What do you want me to do?" his brother questioned, incredulous. "Slow down? Stop? Or maybe just kick down the front door of the government central so we can all look like the terrorists they're making us out to be?" His voice was steadily growing louder at each word.

"That's how we can finally show everybody what's going on! It's quick and on a scale where those blinded, scared sheep that call themselves people can get it through their thick skulls! It'll finally click that they can struggle!"

"You're suggesting more warfare against warfare! I don't want to see anyone be force to shoot -" his brother paused, breathing hard. In a firm tone, he swiftly emphasized, "I'm not talking about this anymore. We'll talk about this next time. I'll just let you know that I need you on that bus with my family 0700 on Friday."

He sneered. "You're putting me on a babysitting job."

"Pretty much."

He hissed at the mocking green eyes, "I hate you. So. Much."

"Love you too," his brother responded with leaking sarcasm.

Screaming frustrated at the roof in disgust, he quickly pointed at Ben when he finished exclaiming. His eye twitched as he said, "One day, they will find your body in a ditch somewhere."

"Cool. Whatevs," his brother responded dismissively. "Anyway, I could give you their pics so you can have plenty of time studying what they look like so you don't 'accidentally' lose them."

"If I don't do this?"

"Well, you can stick around in Los Soledad staring at the ceiling because I'm not letting you on any other missions," his brother suggested. The smile that got on his nerves was there. "This one will get you out of here faster. We'll get some inside job cleaning out your records. Know Kevin?"

Remembering from the earlier meeting with Gwendolyn, his mouth skewed to the side in distaste. "I'm familiar."

Lips upturned in a mischievous way that suggested his brother was enjoying some irritating inside joke, the man commented, "Heh, knew you guys would hate each other on first sight. Too similar."

His skin crawled at the idea. "Who are you to say?" he snapped.

"Your brother," was the brief response. "Anyway, he'll get you all cleared out and ready for Friday. Get studying. Here's files." A manila folder was handed his way.

He raised an eyebrow at the first picture that greeted him. "It's wonderful that you have a picture of Julie Freeman," he mocked. "I'm sure it must be valuable to you on cold, lonely nights."

It took a full five seconds before there was flustered blushing and defensive garble, "Fwa-bu-guh-wah? What are you even-?" For a moment, as if trying to collect his composure at what his brother just suggested, he just raised his shoulder stiffly. Then he snapped, "That's my wife!"

He blinked. He had to. It was incredibly surreal. The idea was a little difficult to coincide with his idea of Ben - the kid who was dysfunctional with girls as he himself was dysfunctional with people. The same boy filled with bravado had tried to hit on this attractive Native American girl. The one who immediately crashed and burned so hard at the attempt, even he laughed out loud at the sight. "Did you somehow poison her drink during a date that caused her debilitating brain damage?"

His brother placed his brown-haired head in his hands. "I don't care if you don't believe me," he said in defeat, not even looking up. "I mean, my last name should be the tip off anyway. But, whatever!" The brunette did breathing calming exercises to himself that made him raise an eyebrow. "Since you know so much about what she looks like since she's famous enough and I guess you know her, then you won't lose her." The green eyes finally looked up at him. "Make sure you don't accidentally ditch my kids if anything happens."

"You don't believe anything will happen during this little excursion?"

"Pfft!" the rebel leader snorted childishly at the apparent ridiculousness of the idea. He thought being caught by the System had been ridiculous and he had marks all over his body pouring ice cold realization over his head. "Look, even you know Julie Freeman and you don't care about the world." _True enough_. "This is a precaution. And if things get a little bumpy along the way."

"Huh. You have the innocence and optimism of a child," he remarked studiously, placing his fingers under his chin contemplatively.

"Thanks?" his brother decided to happily misinterpret.

"I was being condescending but take it as you will," he said simply, which earned him an irritated glower. He waved the folder in his hand. "This will occupy my time for a short while. In the meantime, would you at least send me some equipment to tinker on? I don't want to get bored after I finish with this." Said equipment could probably help assist his study in the first place. This Cooper person may have some heavily intricate firewalls that were definitely a step above the government's own security. But he had time and boredom on his side. He decided to leave and turned away from his brother.

"As long as you don't make anything go boom, I'll get Manny to drop some stuff over your way," his brother replied.

"If I'm making stuff go boom, you'll know because it will be in your face," was his retort, closing the door loudly behind him.

His brother's loud voice permeated past the closed door: "Ha-ha! Very funny!"

* * *

Love to Hate pt. 1

**You were my savior in my time of need**

**Blinded by faith, I couldn't hear **

**All the whispers, the warnings so clear.**

She was staring on the ground. For a few moments, her sight was blurry enough that she couldn't tell the rocks littering the pavement. Actually she couldn't tell what anything was.

The sound of a gun cocking was part of what she heard, other than a deep familiar voice stating conversationally, "… massive amount of recoil. There's only so much aiming that can be done when it displaces the angle badly enough to make the difference between a graze and an accurate headshot. The manufacturer should really attempt to improve the design by at least adding a recoil buffer with the most economic cost. But then that still adds up, and I suppose rookie-issue isn't worth," a few clicks which she couldn't quite tell what was what, "the additional finances."

Placing a hand over her face, she pushed away the hair covering her face and wiped off the grogginess from her eyes. She groaned lightly, feeling the pain on her middle when she tried to move. Too disoriented, she wondered where she was.

"Ben?" she called out, hazarding a guess based on the man's voice.

From the fuzzy view of still sleepy eyes, she watched the figure at the corner of her eyes stiffen at the name. As her eyes cleared, the man's body posture slowly eased back to a more relaxed one.

In a tone that implied he was pretending he didn't hear what she just said, he continued, "I could probably push the rotational speed a little bit more with a few alterations. This could hypothetically increase the average of two point five targets shot per second."

Memory slowly trickled in and lead was settling down her heart. But it was so broken that it probably didn't need any more to be crushed. Her voice came out in all the edges of the shattered pieces of herself, "You can't shoot half a person." _Just the way he couldn't have half-shot her son._

With an equally dry tone, he responded, "It's an average. It's not necessarily going to be a whole number." The diction was suggesting that she was slow, which was why it was important to explain things to her carefully.

She hated him. Hated his coldness and indifference. Like all this was just banter. What kind of monster would simply put aside shooting - _not killing, she refused to believe her child was dead - _an innocent? Like it was nothing? Here he was focusing on semantics and not what she was implying.

Anger fuelled the tired muscles in her body to push herself upwards.

Her voice wavered, like a broken wind chime as she said, "You shot my baby." Her knees nearly gave way as she tried to push herself to a stand. Fury gave her the leg up. Her lips were trembling. Everything in her was trembling.

"Congratulations," he retorted dryly. "You want an award for your amazing discovery?" Red eyes blinked underneath the maroon jacket covering most of his face. _The jacket looked like dried blood. _She could barely see the outlines of his face. The only thing lit up were the bright red points and a bit of his pallid jaw line. Very familiar jaw line.

"You bastard," she choked out, close to tears. Her body was too broken, her mind too tired. She couldn't decide on whether she wanted to just crumple up and die, or rage and batter the world for taking her children.

"Not an accurate assumption," he said simply. "But you don't know me so you can just guess."

"What did he do to you?" she demanded, forcing herself to walk towards him. Not that she was able to quite get there. _She wanted to know. _In the back of her mind, she could feel the trickling down her eyes. She ignored it. "He's just a boy. What did he do to deserve that?"

"Not to me; haven't you been paying attention earlier?" he responded irritably, rolling his eyes. "Why do I have to keep repeating myself?"

He barely finished his rhetorical question before she snapped, "I'd rather be killed than to see my child be shot, you asshole!" Her body was shaking. Her ears were ringing. "You don't make decisions on human life on who's more useful or not!" Placing her hands over her face, she felt like the world was crumbling all over again.

"That's being decided for you long before you even knew," he responded calmly. In a mellow voice that was too frighteningly familiar. Her mind was screaming defensively about how she'd never heard anything quite so monstrous; that she wasn't allowed to put the puzzle pieces together. "Every moment of your life. You never let yourself notice. You can continue watching the progress of the war. You continue to openly declare your nationalism but secretly question it. I've watched the transmissions and interviews. They don't broadcast those anymore but I saw them."

"What are you talking about? What does this have to do with anything?" she asked in confusion, blinking past the tears. They were talking about her son. Now they were talking about her interviews? Was this man really just insane?

"Before the censors caught up on your lack of Americanism, is what I was talking about," he explained calmly. "But you shut up, because you've had enough being questioned about your alliance. Because you're just half - you're different. So the only sensible thing to do is keep your trap shut or be questioned by the System. Because you know, on the inside, there's no such thing as freedom here. Or the decision about who lives or doesn't live the next day." He was using a small piece of ragged cloth to methodically clean the rifle in his hands. He wasn't even looking at her. As if he knew what he was saying was right and unquestionable; that he didn't need to look up to confirm.

"What are you saying?" she snapped, desperate and frightened. Her heart was beating fast. She was reminded of that one time when she was jokingly asked about the war situation and blocking off international travel.

Journalists always expect people of her kind - the sports playing, attractive people type - to just go ahead and mindlessly drone about 'all hail' support to the government. There was a lot of blinking after she expressed a little bit more opinion than they truly wanted. This was a live broadcast. She had to apologize publicly when the government started putting pressure on her. They canceled her travel to the next tournament and accused her of being a spy for the opposing side until she backtracked her words.

She was one of those people who were inwardly questioning the decisions of the government. Silence was all she could truly get away with. It was an instinct that told her that there was looming danger for those who caused a ripple through the imaginary quiet of the regime.

One of her tennis-player friends was imprisoned for making comments about the government. There were evidences that piled up on her arms distribution for the enemy. This made no sense to her because the girl wouldn't even be able to operate a water gun if her life depended on it. Julie had never seen or heard from her friend again.

"Please keep pretending to be stupid. It's not as if it's annoying or anything," he remarked scathingly.

"Why is shooting my son even related to this?" she asked, her throat becoming dry at even mentioning what happened earlier.

"Because you've finally been introduced to the real world, you stupid woman!" he hissed, rising from his seat abruptly. He stomped to where she was so he could glare at her. "Because your son was going to die anyway," her heart burned at this "whether it was from my bullet, from a soldier's or a stray one!"

Releasing a shrill, frustrated cry, she raised her hand to slap his face. His larger hand wrapped around her wrist and the familiar feel of it was what bothered her, not the pain. The light finally fell on his face, the smug expression on it illuminated by the moonlight. Heart hammering in her chest, she stared at her **husband's **features.

"You hit me once and only once," he threatened coolly. "Try again and you will regret it."

It was too much for her. In one night, she'd lost both her children. One of which she'd seen be shot in front of her. Now she was being threatened by a face she trusted and loved. The idea that the face also shot her son broke so much more things than she could handle.

The world disappeared in darkness.

* * *

He found her confusing. Though his patience was a lot longer around her than he was with most people, he was slowly getting irritated with her insistence to leave and find her dead children. It was a touchy issue and her attempts to harm him increased when he emphasized it.

That bright eyed optimism; he'd seen it before. In green eyes he found annoying. The other was also combined with quiet rage, while this was one was just optimism in its purity. She told him outright that she knew in her heart that her children just needed finding.

If his hands weren't on the gun, he would have slapped a hand over his forehead.

The problem with people like her was that they always looked at the world as if it was like a dead body. They'd use the defibrillator on it even if the heartbeat has flat-lined when it definitely won't work. He couldn't possibly be faulted if he acknowledged sensibility. The closer the guerilla teams targeted the government, the closer the System was to pinpointing them. So far, a lot of the other HQ outside of Los Soledad were quietly metaphorically incinerated.

His brother heard of the fact that they were methodically being finished off. As expected, his brother reacted by moving faster to drill into the evidences needed to dethrone the government. That was the moment he wanted to slam his head against the wall. He despised the government as much as his brother did but he wouldn't stupidly repeat an action that yielded little result. _If the door didn't push forward, one would logically pull it back, right_? His brother would be the person to push it even harder.

Now his brother's wife was doing the same thing. Somehow this didn't surprise him. Even knowing what would happen in the end of her search, she continued to run like a headless chicken.

At some point, he sighed and just gave in. He let her consider their escape as a means to find her children. She constantly tried to fight with him or escape to pursue her kids on her own. At least, she was following cooperatively when he kept quiet about his opinion.

There was something different about actually interacting with her as opposed to just inspecting. Quiet moments of her laughing, kissing her children's foreheads at night, affectionate looks, determined expressions during tournaments. He felt like he knew her. If one was given enough time to just focus on someone for a very long time, with really nothing else to do, one honed in and connected. Not that he wanted to.

When he was given the assignment by his stupid brother, he focused on it since there was nothing else. _Nothing else._ Other than waiting rather briefly for the results of his medical confirmation that he was clear of cancer or about to die soon. Instead of stewing in his anger over that, he occupied his mind. Entirely and completely. It was easy enough to get carried away.

He openly blamed his parents for his disgusting genetics, blamed his brother for being the stronger sibling that likely parasitically claimed his strength. He blamed everyone for making it happen to him. Never himself. He was the victim. Nobody truly understood the alienation and he begrudged them for it.

One thing that nagged inside him was that he was secretly jealous of what his brother had. Normalcy. Humanity he couldn't quite achieve. Everything was given to his twin on a silver platter. And everybody still wondered why he was so damned angry at his brother.

The leadership of the rebellion. Loyalty. Love. A bright smile that his brother never really deserved. Of course, he was furious.

It was entirely voyeuristic to observe his brother's fragile happy ending. It was with a condescending stare that he watched its progression and knew it wasn't meant to last. No such thing in that world was going to stay for long. His brother knew it.

But that woman, sincere and whole as she was, had no idea.

So he focused on that. It was something alien. Very different to see someone be so removed from that world, yet be intricately connected to it. And hell, she was a better sight than his idiot brother.

Watching her up close was an entirely different experience. She was strong but fragile. Whole but broken. He thought this was going to bore him, to finally break the original illusion presented by just watching. It didn't.

The more resentment she held for him; the more she became a confusing contrast; the more she showed who she really was, the more curious he became. It was a tug of war - rebellion against gravity.

He constantly threatened to kill her if she kept on being a pain but he knew that would be met with a lot of hesitation. The strength she dredged in the pits of desperation was nothing short of admirable. As delusional as it was - as stupidly optimistic as she came off sometimes, he held respect for it.

He knew _determination. _Starkly different though they may seem, that was one thing they both held in spades.

* * *

She took notice. It wasn't very difficult to. She wasn't blind. At first her mind wouldn't put two and two together because it was just wrong to compare her husband with the monster who shot her son.

Maybe it was one of those one in a million chances - two unrelated people who looked exactly the same. The sense of familiarity in his speech - this was a bit of stretch because he was still cold, but he acted like he knew her - was a clue. But she continued to delude herself and ignore it.

They'd been travelling in the forest for a while. She'd convinced him to help her find her children. When he opened his mouth to say anything she didn't like, she became extremely vicious. That stopped after a couple of tries.

Eventually giving in to her curiosity, she asked. There was knowing dread that accompanied the question.

Pieces of paper in his identification folders were given to her dismissively while they hid off in a canopy of trees for a while. As she read the name, he loaded the rifle with more ammunition.

_Émilien Asimov. _

She heard herself breath a sigh of relief. It was misleading comfort that she clung to for a long while.

But there was always a nagging feeling that she pointedly ignored. Sometimes, that fact that his age was the exact same one as her husband's - surprise, surprise even his birthday would just appear in her mind. She used that frustration and angered fear as the fuel to bludgeon some soldier with a blunt weapon when her life was threatened.

Sometimes he would mutter to himself about how hungry he was and cursed that there wasn't any chili fries in the immediate area. It was like her husband's crazy obsession with smoothies. There were just too many things.

Even their strikingly similar faces became even more similar in the face of danger. She'd seen her husband adorn that expression a few times. They were only a few moments and they always sent chills to her spine. Every time. That same expression as he pulled the trigger. She wanted to puke when her mind bombarded her with the comparisons.

It was a knowledge that filtered through, that snuck in and settled in the deepest parts of her heart.

But she refused to acknowledge. After all, what kind of person would hurt family? What would it take?

Her answer was eventually given. All her own accord. She gained it by experience.

The answer was: **Desperation. **

* * *

The woman placed her hands over her eyes as if it would shield her from being a part of it. With a raised eyebrow, he slammed the butt of the gun over the soldier's skull much stronger than necessary. The flinch from her shoulders when she heard the sounds never got old.

He'd pulled at her unmoving, cowering self to coax her inside with him. The entire time, she couldn't look at them. The others were dead, after all. For good measure, he pivoted swiftly and shot the last soldier a few more times despite the incessant pull on his arms to stop. She was going to rip his jacket if she kept on pulling like that. If she also kept on blubbering that way, her eyes would be the same color as said jacket.

Roughly, he turned her around with him and continued on inside the small fort - it was a pit-stop for the soldiers to collect more weapons. The directions to the place were easy enough to understand once he got hold of the map in the communications tower.

She tiredly stumbled to the wall when he let her go and pointed the gun at the kid handling the storage room.

Gangly and thin still; probably a new recruit. The way the kid was pointing the gun at him made him want to correct the kid's hand positions. The kid was too rattled. Actually, he did go ahead and inform the kid to keep his fingers away from the view of the sight. Enough of a distraction so that the boy couldn't get a lucky shot in. He fired at the kid's right shoulder.

Then swiftly crossing the rooms in a few strides, he disarmed the boy.

What surprised him enough not to shoot the boy was the grip on his arms pulling the gun away. He turned his attention from the cowering new recruit into a pair of angry dark eyes.

"Don't shoot," she told him lowly.

"I don't know if you noticed, but you're making me point the gun at the wall," he stated flatly.

"Good," was her equally dry response.

With an irritated scoff, he turned to the rookie. "Get out of here. You're not part of the training exercise. You're useless to me," he snapped at the snivelling lump in front of him.

The kid rushed off past them. He was careful to observe that the boy wasn't carrying any of the weapons. After said rookie was finally out of the storage shed, Julie let go of his arm.

"Thank you," he uttered sarcastically.

"You're a madman and a bully," she said simply, looking at him accusingly through a curtain of bedraggled black hair.

_There were five of them. Taller, older kids in his class. He didn't even really wanna be there. Despite being accelerated, the subjects were still mind-numbing. These kids were the loud lot who were scolded during class. _

_They targeted him because he was the younger child who still upstaged them. He was small even for a boy his age. Pale and reed thin body; thick glasses that constantly fell down his nose. He couldn't be a better target if he was wearing a big red bullseye on his forehead. _

_It started with verbal abuse, which he was used to. It happened more often that he could count - and he could do better mathematics than the teacher. His sharp tongue always worked best, because the others were always baffled by his words. This time, it annoyed them more for it to escalate. The leader of the group had grabbed his glasses and crushed it under his foot. _

_He tried to attack. He managed to get a few good punches in before they all ganged up on him. They'd taken off his long-sleeved shirt and tied him to a tree with someone's sister's jump rope. And left him there. For hours. In the __**burning afternoon sun**__. In a place isolated enough not to be found for a long time. _

_His white skin had blazed bright red and patches of it had blistered. Trying to escape made his skin worse off, being blistered and rubbing against rough tree bark. _

_His brother found him later - he couldn't recognize the blob of brown at the start - and untied the knot to free him. _

"_Just take the shirt and stop being picky!"_

_He wasn't going to wear some disgusting baseball uniform his brother sweated in just to get clothed. _

_It was at that point, trying to stomp away from his idiot brother, that he found the camera. Just sitting there innocuously where it probably saw everything that happened. But no one came. _

_His blood blazed more than his mottled skin did. He snatched his brother's backpack just so that he could smash the camera to bits._

"_Stop doing that! It's illegal!" his brother had shouted, trying to reclaim his backpack. _

_**For safety. To uphold the peace. For the good of the citizens of country**. The words repeated like a mantra in his head as he smashed the thing to dust. _

_The next day, authorities came to reprimand the school on the destruction of government property. The school had called his parents in and he was suspended for a week on grounds of illegal activity._

_There was a valuable lesson to be learned here. He knew children. He knew **monsters.** They weren't under the bed at all. Adults were useless, if only to make things worse. There was no one to rely on and everyone to blame. _

"Bully maybe, but not mad," he responded simply. He was calmer than he expected to be. It was probably out of the acceptance that everyone was the same anyway. Why would he deny it?

She was quiet for a while - just looking at him. A moment where she took off the haze of anger and resentment for what he'd done to express a hint of curiosity. He hated that look most of the time. That look was always accompanied with the concept of his difference. But this was just curiosity. Now he understood what he hated about her: his inability to find a reason or the inclination to hate her.

"It scares me to think that you're sane," she said quietly, a wisp of breath that could easily be muffled even by the sound of the breeze.

He didn't answer. Instead, he focused on collecting good equipment he could use and things he could just destroy. He picked one machine gun then dropped it when the weight suggested its impracticality; picked up a reasonable amount of ammunition and packed it into his suitcase. Continuing to go about his business, he paid little attention to what his companion did.

The night was hot. Summer evenings were much easier to deal with because they didn't have the sun as a deterrent for him to take off his jacket. So he decided to remove the stuffy red jacket around him and felt a little less restricted afterwards. There was a barely audible gasp from behind him. He ignored it and continued to check the weaponry and start looking into the communications system.

"What happened to your arms?" she asked, her wispy voice sounding as horrified as he imagined her face to be.

Sometimes, there were still nights that bones and ligaments hurt. He didn't really take notice of the scarring on his body anymore. It was a long time ago. Back when he was stupid enough to get caught.

"The System," was his brief reply. Pivoting calmly, he threw her extra bullets for the pistol she refused to use. She caught it adeptly, out of pure athletic instinct. "Just in case it ever occurs to you to use it."

Dropping the arm that held the magazine, she looked straight at him. "What happened to your arms?" she repeated, in that cool quiet tone that suggested sincerity - like he hadn't turned her world upside down.

He hated the memories. The pain itself had left. He couldn't remember the physical sensation anymore but all the emotions of hatred, of despair, of fear - something he rarely felt - would resurface.

_When his head bobbed from the water, he breathed in all the oxygen he could. Choking on the water that had burst into his mouth and his lungs, he forced himself to take in the air. His nose and his throat burned. He tried to keep his eyes closed just to make sure the lenses didn't get carried away into the water. _

_They wanted information on Dr. Azmuth's blueprints. They were able to detect him and had barrelled past his created identity into his old one. These bastards were good. Better than the last ones who had accidentally allowed him to get away. But they were getting as much information on those designs from him as someone who knew nothing about it. Because those were **his designs** too. Perhaps, he even had more claim over it than Azmuth - that ungrateful old coot._

_He barely had time to take in more chunks of air when they dunked his head again. _

_Struggling, feet kicking and arms flailing. He stupidly let his eyes open in surprise at the force of his head hitting the water. When they pulled his head back - his scalp felt like it was going to come off, he could barely see the person interrogating him. He was squinting on the colored blobs and much more glaring light in front of him. Dread settled down his spine when he realized he could barely see. _

_Days blurred together and he couldn't understand when was when. He spent days with barely any food - **God, he would kill an army for one chili fry** - driving himself insane inside the dark, dank cell they placed him in. They thought he could still be convinced to cooperate. He gave them signs, teasing hints of vital information that was important but not quite, just so that he could continue living. It was just self-preservation at that point. _

_Criminals were there, too. Not just dissidents who honestly wanted to struggle against the System. They were the ones who didn't want to cooperate either. Too stupid to consider making money off of being the bastards that they were. These criminals made no secret of what they thought of him. He was a tall man, but the nutrient deprivation, impaired eyesight and general overall weakness meant he was **easy**._

_He discreetly pocketed some cutlery and created a little distraction to be able to keep it. When someone made the point of threatening to do something - and how imaginative, it was in the showers - he made good use of the fork. Vitreous humor leaked in the process. He was myopic, not blind. He was able to observe that happening. Getting that up close to him was a bad idea._

_Of course, he was sent into an even worse cell for his actions. Not just the dark one that kept him from finding out when was day or night. It wasn't really a cell. No, they just left him out in the open the entire day to work while the sun was at its highest. With barely a scrap of clothing on. They did it for a couple of days until he felt like killing himself at the sheer pain all over his skin. They even had to send him at the infirmary at the degree of burns he sustained. This was becoming an interesting pattern in his life. He would be surprised if he made it past forty, heck, even thirty at that rate. _

_He couldn't remember what it was that he did that caused him to be beaten severely once upon a time. It wasn't even subtle anymore. It was something that scraped off skin as it connected with his back. His arms were being held by metals restraints that also damaged his skin. Every time he was hit, his entire body snapped forward, causing the sharp restraints to tighten around his arms and lacerate his skin. Several instances of it was just loud cursing, blacking out, waking up, angered and pain screaming. Wash, repeat. It was very garbled and confusing. _

_He didn't remember much of it. His brain just blocked it out. Sometimes he woke up breaking up into a cold sweat, in a fetal position, gripping his arms around him protectively. _

_He forgot. Unfortunately, a part of him continued to remember. _

He spoke about it in a way that suggested he was reading out a shopping list. All the while, he was dismantling the camera in the fort. There weren't enough interesting information in that storage area. Perhaps in the next pit-stop he'd find something more useful.

All the while, the woman in front of him just stood unmoving as he told his moment of stupidity in the past that had gotten him imprisoned. He was disinterested in it already and had just vowed to never be lax about his identity ever again.

Finally deciding to look at her again, her dark eyes looked like it was going to start crying again. He was starting to think she cried at the drop of a hat.

"They _made_ you," she whispered quietly, like a sort of revelation.

Those words were baffling to him. What brought that on, he'd never know. He didn't really have the time or the patience to decipher through them. After clicking the suitcase shut, he picked up the jacket.

Speaking of which, he was itching for some chili fries right now.

**I couldn't see, your dark intentions, **

**Your feelings for me**

**Fallen angel, tell me why,**

**What is the reason, **

**The thorn in your eye?**


	3. Chapter 3

Assistants

Dr. Azmuth was the greatest mind of his time. Perhaps, like Einstein's own contribution to the scientific world, his well-meaning ideas were always twisted and used for the sake of propagating the war. He was an old man, bitter as coffee and heart equally dark with cynicism. He used to work in a prestigious university. It was the sort that compiled the large number of eager minds and aspiring scientists, all excited to contribute.

The world remained relatively patriarchal, all with that subtle disparity in the number of girls against boys that were allowed through. They all took the same damn four stage rigorous testing to get in. She wasn't going to believe that the women were somehow less intelligent in general, because they were all mostly filtered by the first stage. She was going to mumble, but she wasn't going to cause a riot about it.

She guessed she got past through all those because of sheer talent as well as the fact that she was a tall, sturdy woman. That hardly qualified for a woman in their eyes, she bet snidely.

Tracing fingers over her cornrows, she simply shrugged through this quick inspection and considered her appearance passable enough. She wasn't going to prance around in lipstick and curlers anytime soon. That stuff never lasted once you put on the lab coat and the safety glasses. Besides, in that place - who was gonna look?

Now she was in that dark, small laboratory that was an occupational health and safety hazard just by existing. It was hard to remember that she used to work in the laboratory in that esteemed university. She did her PhD under Dr. Azmuth's guidance, after all. Until then, her loyalty was with him. Well, _not really_. She just stayed with the old prune because whoever was associated with him was going to be taken down with him.

She'd rather stay alive, have bits of herself intact and continue working while cowering at the same time. Worked for her.

At least she was smarter - cowardlier, true enough - than Albedo. The other assistant. Azmuth had a lot of assistants. Too many ideas, not enough time or hands. Some of the ideas weren't even his, too. It was collaborative work that the old man wasn't acknowledging - _the ass_. Either way, at least she had most of herself relatively safe and unharmed.

Now that particular assistant didn't go in hiding. He simply went through a name change and moved to the next state to continue working. She heard what had happened when they found him - only bits of it. They were probably not even very detailed bits but still then they weren't pretty.

He did his studying in the college under the name of Waller Hahn - though he apparently preferred to be called by his middle name as he was used to it. _Bullshit_. Even back then, even while they got on each other's nerves being anywhere near the other, she knew he was bullshitting. The guy looked up on other names other than the two names he was formally and informally known. He probably cycled through names like a change of clothing.

Myaxx had a very distinctive and odd name which she also now changed on paper. It was out of practicality because the government kept tabs on who was who. It was just great that the camera's face detectors still couldn't recognize any other view than full frontal view. Know where the cameras were, angle the face a certain way and one had a new lease on life. She only had to bullshit once, unlike that guy. _Hope that was enough_.

Azmuth didn't make an issue on the identities or backgrounds of his assistants. This was further evidence that one couldn't really trust the old man with understanding of people's nature. It was only a little later - after his not-trustworthy assistants were already being apprenticed, that he took on a more paranoid approach. Safe, but incredibly paranoid.

Once the government started recognizing one's achievements it became very difficult to stay free-ish. Free in that country meant "not being tortured for weapons production/information/insert useful action here". One just had to put up with all the intrusion of privacy. So: _free-ish_. Note that if she hadn't been introduced into the 'being hunted down by the government' circle, she would just say that not free was 'disappearing'. Because that was what happened. People disappeared. It made sense later on why they did.

All that paranoia from Azmuth may have been in the right though. She also saw that all that sneaking around was not going to save them in the end. It was really just an attempt to put off the inevitable.

The nationality of the leader - despite proudly declaring his current nationality, but was actually only half that - was the same as hers. Doubt that would give any cookie points or anything, but it was something to note. She would be disturbed if she wasn't too busy _cowering to save her hide_.

Plucking the ID from her pocket, she swiped it near the detector. The door opened for her to enter. There was nobody else in the laboratory at the moment. This gave her breathing space - which also translated to free whining space. But it was best if the boss was actually there to hear her gripe so he might get the hint. She snorted. _Optimistic train of thought_.

Looking around and heightening her senses, she sat down to her design only after she was able to confirm there was no one else there. Especially possible forces that have finally honed in on where the great physicist was. _It wasn't paranoia. It was called careful_. Then again, she was probably spending too much time with the old man she was finally jumping at shadows too.

Dr. Azmuth also found the greatest minds to surround him; minds that matched and caught up with his own. Not on par, but close enough. All of which were _very useful_ to the System. They were the **assistan****ts. **They all had important information ingrained through their brains. The System was going to drill through those brains to find them - metaphorically and literally.

If she could help it, _this_ particular assistant was going to make sure that didn't happen.

* * *

Processing Camp

She would be able to read some material later on that would remind her very painfully of her time in that camp. Other histories. Important ones that were restricted from access lest it gave people ideas. A reminder of the cyclic nature of history. But it would be awhile until she did finally read up on those.

They called it **Incarcecon**. It was a prison and a working camp. People forced to be productive for the war effort were housed in the place.

It was a vicious, deadly food chain. It wasn't an hierarchy between the prisoners since there was no such thing as authority there. They were all beggars scrounging for a scrap of food or one more soft comfort. Things, just little things, that made them feel like humans and not animals. But the System made the point of treating them so.

The real reason why she was surviving so adeptly in the environment was the fact that while she would usually run from a fight, she'd fight rabidly if she was cornered. There was nothing else in that camp. Militia, barbed wire, other prisoners, working areas and places to die. She was definitely cornered by all of that. She was a strong woman and it probably showed in her stature. Putting her money where her mouth is was actually easy.

Someone stormed through the prison one fateful day. Well, more than just one someone. At that time, the big fat deal being made around it almost seemed ridiculous. Being stuck in that camp sapped someone of any hope, even more so than her already cynical nature, so it was too much of a stretch to hope it was help.

The other man was older and leading the search while the younger man looked suspiciously familiar - like a certain colleague, only with a brunette job. Either way, the older man that went by the name of Tetrax - she wasn't sure if it was a codename, a fake name or a real name - had a massive grudge against the totalitarian leader of the regime. _Well, that was good. At least, they had that much in common._

They were looking for the old bastard who'd gotten her in that situation in the first place. Something incredibly urgent about some weapon of mass destruction that was Azmuth's brainchild. Trying to circumvent that impending disaster by knowing how to deactivate it. _Blah, blah. _Perfect opportunity to be taken and properly protected by these people trying to fight against the government. So, she became their Azmuth. Since they were looking for a guy who wasn't even in that camp in the first place. And they were looking for an Azmuth so she gave them one.

Once she was sure she was protected and out of that place, she could just hint at who she really was and go on her merry way. She was just the assistant. Easy to make the mistake. No harm done.

But things had gone horribly wrong. A bounty hunter that was only known by his number had been sent in pursuit of them. That was just the start. Things rolled over into a massively horrible sequence of events.

The blubbery driver guy whose name was apparently Gluto - confirming the fact that they were all lying bastards giving away fake names - was killed at some point during their travel.

She thought that the one in charge may have been the Tetrax guy, but slowly realized that the younger kid - who still bothered her by looking like he did - was somehow vital. It showed how much more he took the reins of leading that group when the red-haired medic was grievously injured. They even thought she died. This girl was apparently his cousin, which explained his more proactive behavior after what happened.

"_Oh, great. That was your medic. Why don't you just take me back where you got me? We'll all die anyway," she commented flatly, overwhelmed by feelings of frustration and fear over the situation._

_Tetrax looked back at her with a hard expression and said, "Be quiet or I **will **do as you say."_

_Pause. "Wait. You're not really going to, are you?" _

"_Don't tempt me," he responded impatiently. _

_She let it go for the moment. _

* * *

"Well, you know, I'm not _really_ Dr. Azmuth, per se," she started to say, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.

The two men stared at her bug-eyed in disbelief. One of them was very clearly grieving after having to abandon his apparently dead cousin and it seemed, one more trigger and he could just burst off. The other was a very serious man dedicated to achieving his objective. She didn't need to be told to know that. None of them were going to be happy about that revelation.

"_What_," Tetrax stated incredulously, not really asked.

"I had to make sure you weren't just getting me out and just abandoning me. Those government cronies are all after me! They're going to kill me without closer protection! I know a lot of weaponry designs that can very easily make me a liability to leave alive- Don't kill me," she explained rapidly with barely a pause to stop for breath.

"I've lost too much," the younger man muttered, almost half to himself. In a louder, firm tone as he whipped his brown-haired head upwards, he said, "We have to find the real Dr. Azmuth! Gwen's sacrifice won't be for nothing." His voice was laced with determination.

The older man turned sharply in her direction. He was about to say something, probably another mention of how he would do as she asked earlier and drop her right smack bang into Incarcecon.

She raised her hands. "I know where he is! I used to be his assistant which is why even know who Dr. Azmuth is or what he does." Okay, that wasn't _completely true. _She had a good idea of where he _might_ have been hiding around, but she wasn't sure if he stayed there. But it was probably the safest place in the country and would make the System consider him dead since he remained out of sight.

* * *

While Ben - the brown-haired not-Waller kid - had shot off to who knew where in pursuit of the good doctor, she'd been stuck with Tetrax while they threw off this bounty hunter called-

"Sixsix," the man beside her repeated in a mumble.

"Like 007, except uglier?" she muttered back smartly, squeezing herself flat as a pancake against the wall to hide her now annoyingly tall and large body. She had never been self-conscious in her life, even back when she was younger when it was expected. It worked for her most times because of her practicality. She'd never been vain either. But this time, her stature could be compromising her ability to remain alive.

The seemingly humourless man who was reloading his gun cracked a barely visible smile. He confirmed, "Yeah. That."

So, she wasn't really 'stuck' stuck with him. She wasn't complaining and that was really special because she bemoaned everything. The fact that her employer was an ornery bastard who wouldn't give her work any credit, the fact that she was being slaved for no pay during her time in Incarcecon, her rumbling stomach, the gun being pointed at her head, the weather. Stuff.

She kind of, maybe, sort of liked tagging close to this Tetrax guy. Not just because they made a pretty good team saving her backside. But she'd rather die than have anybody else know about that.

* * *

She was not tucking a dreadlock shyly behind her ear like a dumb schoolgirl talking to the resident motorbike-riding cool guy. While he probably applied for the description, she really didn't qualify under dumb or schoolgirl. Even back when she was a schoolgirl. Because she was Myaxx and she could crack schoolboys in two, like they were her knuckles, with her bare hands even then.

Since he was a mercenary, she guess he really classified under 'cool'. Though he was more like an ex-mercenary turned rebellion advisor/hired muscle/rebellion team leader.

"I used to be available for mercenary duty to everyone," he explained quietly as they sped past behind the warehouse crates and storage racks. "I was in employ of that tyrant when he conquered my home. Just another land to increase his empire. He didn't need the people who lived there, just the land and its resources. I helped with providing the means to easily slaughter my people." Only then did she notice his slightly accented English.

"I don't know what I expected - that he'll just drive them away or something like that," he explained soberly. "Barely any were left, except for the handful who travel and myself." She noticed his hand tremble at the memory.

While she didn't usually care outside of herself, she felt her heart sink to the bottom of her abdomen.

"I've been trying to take justice for the death of my people ever since. I will take Vilgax down and everything he's ever built for the forty years his empire has been thriving.

The room was quiet. Not even the minute sounds of their pursuer's footfalls could be heard. Sucking in air, she turned to her companion to wrap her arms awkwardly around him.

"Tell anyone of this and I will skin you alive," she threatened gravely.

"I don't think you could," he responded under her embrace. Even if he was tall and wide himself, she still managed to be taller. "Mercenary and all that."

"Just be quiet," she snapped sharply, still disbelieving that she actually went ahead did it. Staring at the words 'Handle with Care' on the boxes, she suddenly heard herself say, "At least you're useful. You're doing something about that thing that's happened to you and your people."

"You're not useless, Myaxx," he said in that honest tone that he didn't really understand just exactly how comforting his words turned out to be.

Her heart absolutely didn't swell at that. "Let's not get all sappy, now," she finally complained lightly, pushing him off.

"Here." A gun was handed to her. As he made a motion to teach her how to use it, she quickly set it up her self, unlocked the safety and placed her index finger lightly on the trigger.

Just in time for the bounty hunter to suddenly make his appearance, she swiftly aimed the gun and shot at the guy's leg. Tetrax and she pivoted to make a run for it while the bounty hunter hissed at his injury.

As they were running, her companion asked, "You know how to use a gun?"

"Who knew?" was her simple reply.

* * *

It turned out that their driver wasn't really dead. He did everything in his power to assist the equally badly injured medic of the group to get them to safety. Eventually, after Dr. Azmuth was located when Tetrax and her finally joined up with Ben, an almost reunion happened with all of them. Tetrax's partner was alive and well, having a hard time walking but relatively well. Gwen wasn't able to do much movement for a time, but she was better than dead anyway. Her cousin's happiness was diabetes-inducing.

After Tetrax disposed of their trailing bounty hunter, they had the privacy and quiet of Azmuth's hideout to force him to detail out the blueprints and information on his invention.

_All's well that end's well_, she supposed.

* * *

The night breeze was cool. Stars dotted the landscape as if she was actually in space. It was so quiet. It was the first time in a very long while since she was able to look at the night sky. No cameras, no rigorous schedules, no forced work, no barricades. Just the night sky. It wasn't something she appreciated on a regular basis and back then she couldn't care less about burning gases light-years away. Freedom gave her a slightly new perspective and she secretly enjoyed the quiet moment.

If it didn't look stupid, she would have stuck her tongue out to taste the salty sea breeze. Maybe the idea of freedom was making her slightly retarded. She couldn't wait to get back to holding tools that she actually wanted to tinker with.

From the corner of her eyes, her stocky male companion nudged his head to their vehicle to urge her along. _Maybe it wasn't just the freedom making her feel a little light-headed_.

She impertinently told him to stop hurrying her up and made the point of walking very slowly.

"Don't make me carry you to the van," he threatened, pointing a finger.

"I dare you to try," she said with equal pride, placing her fists on her hips and looking down at him from her height.

For a while, he just blinked at her in that somewhat bored way. Then, without further ado, he grabbed her by the waist and hefted her over his shoulder. The ex-mercenary struggled for all of two seconds at the start before he managed to actually carry her. Too stunned to do anything else, she gawked as she found herself staring at his back.

After she finished being surprised at his strength - and being a little flustered at their proximity, she was going to _punch_ him square on the face.

The small old man watching this just rolled his eyes at the sight. The driver mentioned something about 'onwards and upwards to Los Soledad' or something silly of that nature. Since the look on Gluto's face suggested he was mildly amused, she wanted to punch him too.

_It felt like Incarcecon had happened in a distant dream._

* * *

Dark Side of the Moon

"You wouldn't have looked funnier if those Plumbers dragged you out by the ear," the woman commented in cruel amusement, sharp icicles of barely concealed laughter punctuating her words. Raiding her hand, she inspected her nails dismissively. Past the spaces between her fingers, was the view of slightly bedraggled wisps of blond hair on a mostly impeccable dressed young man.

All that clean-cut look made him practically glitter in the darkness. If only he wasn't also messy with dirt and grit. It amused her to see the gentlemanly rich boy sitting on the soil and covered in it.

With bare-thread patience, he greeted with automatic politeness, "It's wonderful to meet you here despite unpleasant circumstances, lovely Ms. Caroli-"

"Charmcaster," she corrected swiftly, the abrupt nudge of her head flicking her platinum hair.

"I apologize, lovely Charmcaster," he amended, tone laced with gracious charm. "That was a slip of the tongue. No harm done, I hope?"

"That would've been a very _fatal _slip of the tongue," she said sharply, placing her hand firmly on her hips. "I won't play nice even with old friends if they do something to compromise my plans."

He stood up slowly, still filled with that elegance even through his less than pristine state.

"I would be the last person to do so, lovely," he reassured, taking her delicate hand and kissing it gently.

She pulled her hand away. "Maybe you should clean up first," she said harshly.

What had brought the golden haired young man to that point was a long, amusing story. Something she could use as fuel to constantly mock him for endlessly for a long while from then. Basically, it was an infiltration procedure.

The Morningstar family were high in their stature within the government. Like many others under the regime, they aspired for even more power and control. Their business empires solidified their position due to the finances they brought in to the country. Michael himself, possibly gaining his family's natural inclination for almost parasitic power-greed, had pursued it pointedly. Of course, bowing to another leader was never really enough.

_That _was what they had very strongly in common.

Birds of the same feather flocked together, as they said.

So Michael Morningstar worked intimately with the System to rope even closer to his aim. He was moving slowly up the political ranks by doing so. Until he was close enough he might as well stick the knife right into the tyrant's face. At the moment, not quite yet. But he was getting there.

Since he believed that nobody could do work better than one's self, he did something about the information collecting very personally.

He had a wonderful way with women. He was a poet at heart; words melded in his tongue like silken poison. Nobody could ever tell just exactly how tarnished he was because of how beautiful and misleadingly comforting his words were. Not to mention the angelic face and clothes to match.

She was always extra derisive at the romantic idiots who fell head over heels for the romantic notion of his perfection. Like everything else in that universe, just like her, he was just as monstrous. But very much like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

This was why he honed in rather naturally to Gwen, a girl who Charmcaster had an intricate history with. Honestly, it was with that dark desire in her heart to see that annoying little redhead crash and burn once she realized what she fell for. Predictably, Gwen found it easy to be deluded by the stunning blond man's charms. It was easy to believe that he was actually interested in working for the rebellion, how he would finance them, all for the interest of _pleasing lovely Gwen_.

_Ugh. _Charmcaster had viciously hoped that he would hurry up to the part where he betrayed her because she was starting to gag at the sight.

But one of the rebellion members had taken quite an interest in Mike's interest in Gwen. Interest in _using _that is, she clarified pointedly. Even Gwen's cousin, who was speculated to have been the rebellion leader or at least at a very vital position, was starting to gain trust in Mike. It was going smoothly until that dark-haired man who tagged along Gwen made the infiltration procedure fall flat on its face. Somewhat more literally, that said dark-haired man had kicked Mike into falling flat on his face.

This man had found out who Mike was in the government hierarchy and had also decoded important transmissions of the information that Michael had collected. It was easy enough for the rebellion members to turn from him and lock him up to prevent him from saying more.

But she broke him out, which was utterly generous on her part. He should be kissing the ground she walked on.

Like Gwen and herself, she and Mike had an interesting little history. But nothing quite so antagonistic. In fact, she would honestly say they connected on the important aim to take down all of their opposition. _Both regime and rebellion. _

Power through religion, through belief. There were so many fools out there so easy to con into things. Charmcaster's family lived within a cult. Her uncle was at its very center and she was at his side. Her parents were useless enough to be dead, after all.

In a time of darkness, of overwhelming despair, people turned to things like belief and madness as a means of comfort. Those same people who would burn any random innocent in the false belief, in their fear-induced madness, that this would somehow fix things. It was easy to coax them in a certain direction if given just a bare-thread, twisted justification. They would give away money, they would kill, _anything_. They were easier than two-dollar whores. She collected enough stupid cronies from that thing to do her dirty work for her, just for extra fun.

That was how easily her and her uncle had become connected to the underground. They were called terrorists somehow. The thuggish nature of it was something that Mike probably wouldn't subscribe to, which was why his connection to her was important. She was a lot more willing, a lot more sadistic, that she actively pursued very up-close and personal deaths and tortures. Things that went boom, things that required a lot of getting one's hands messy, was not impeccable enough for him.

She snorted mockingly at that.

"I think I might know who Gwen's overprotective boyfriend may be," she started to say, walking in front of him as he was courteous enough to give her a lot of leeway. "I've seen him around." By that she meant all that black market dealings rather than her cultist ones. "He's something of a government dog too, you know, like _yourself." _She laughed harshly.

"If I may ask, are you intending to have that information divulged to the System?" he asked.

"Oh, good. You're quick!" she mocked, flicking a hand.

"Of course, lovely Charmcaster. That is the reason why we make such wonderful conversations together," he commented in an underhanded way that could be taken as offensive or complimentary, depending on how she took it.

She decided to glare at him.

He redirected her attention to the topic: "May I suggest another direction? We could reserve this information for an important occasion. If one would need something to hang over the government's nose. For now, I have given them enough information from what I did gather. After all, we must save something for the rainy day."

She liked his style. A delighted, twisted chuckle escaped her lips. As she looked at him and the backdrop behind him, he shone as brightly as the moon against the night sky. But it would probably be more adept to regard him as the devious, dark side of the moon.

* * *

Concerns

"Sometimes, I wonder about your cousin," Aunt Camille wondered out loud, staring upwards at nowhere in particular. There was a worried expression on her face.

"Which one?" she asked, a hint of humor in her tone.

Her aunt smiled at this. "I was talking about Sven. Ben's fine," her aunt/adoptive mother said, waving a hand dismissively.

"Other than worrying about him doing something stupid like falling into a manhole unless you tell him to watch out?" she felt inclined to remark snidely. All in good humor of course. If Ben was there, they would be taking pot-shots at each other. No skin off their back.

The older redhead laughed. "Other than that," she conceded. It was brief chuckle before her expression turned serious. "He's so single-minded. And stubborn. Goodness, very arrogant too. Last time I saw someone be so much like those, I was being stalked by my ex-boyfriend."

Goosebumps broke out on the back of Gwen's neck as her adoptive mother told her this. She knew the story of Aunt Camille's ex-boyfriend crashing her wedding. It was a very extreme act and had escalated badly. The Mann family had bad blood with the Tennysons due to their very strong and open support of the regime. The speculated connections of the Tennyson name to the revolution was what started it. They only urged her possessive, jealous ex-boyfriend to take it to a whole new level.

"Well, I don't think he'll be stalking anyone anytime soon," Gwen reassured in a hushed voice as the person in question popped into the scene, pushing his glasses upwards with his knuckle while his fingers were stained with chili fries sauce. "He's more asexual than a rock," she tried to inject some humor to lighten up her adoptive mother's concerns.

Aunt Camille's blue eyes darkened. "I'm not just talking about that. He's very pointed in his belief. Someone whose opinions are too strong to be open to anything else," she started to explain.

Sven tucked the glasses on his shirt, disregarding the sauce staining the shirt as he did so. It was misleading to observe him acting so normally, especially when Gwen reminded herself of all those moments he honestly tried to maim her. _Tried to kill her, even_. She tried to hold down the emotions that surfaced from those thoughts and keep her adoptive mother from worrying more.

"He's not very accepting," Aunt Camille murmured, which had more edged in its implications than the words themselves. Because her family was also 'not very accepting'. The idea of drawing parallels with her family and her ex-boyfriend to the white-haired boy must disturb her adoptive mother immensely. She looked like she didn't really want to be saying those things.

"Don't worry," she reassured, placing a hand on the older red-head's shoulder. "He'll grow out of it. He's just a teenager." Since her cousin has been like that ever since he was young and seemed to be steadfast staying the way he was, if not growing worse, she had doubts on her own declaration.

* * *

The training for all of the children in Los Soledad territory had been going for a few years. All of the sessions were done in secret and discreetly. As much that could be done with the limited time they had without arising suspicion for the disappearances. Which is why it was always night-time when they should be sleeping.

Aunt Camille and Uncle Joel always looked out for their best interest and asked for what they wanted.

The twins, in a rare moment of similarity, reacted in great enthusiasm over being trained. Gwen just wanted to be able to fight for the injustice that robbed her of her parents. Ken was there to support her search wholeheartedly. He was calmer and cooler, likely to be the stable point that held her up when she was feeling like breaking down. Ken seemed intent on becoming the protective parent since their parents had died. Since he was older than all of the kids around them, it just further justified it.

They were all trained in all the ways that mattered.

Sven was particularly vicious. It was as if he made up for the natural weakness of his body through aggression. It was like being bulldozed by something expected to be small and helpless. It was kind of odd, not to mention spine-chilling, to see her cousin catching up with his fighting ability. At least, his excessive aggression made the fluidity and grace she'd attained unachievable for him.

Ben was also naturally confrontational but there was a rather mature restraint behind it. It was only once given the incentive did he match his brother in viciousness. He fought in a hint of fun and in a lot more of heroism.

She wasn't the only who noticed this important disparity. The rebellion was short on man power, so it wasn't surprising to note that someone so young would be given leadership responsibilities. Ken wasn't too proactive for such a position since he considered caring for his family a much higher priority. She was still being trained medically and barely being allowed out due to the demands of that study. The twins' rivalry seemed to take on a whole new level because of said leadership position.

The white-haired boy was incredulous when his brother was told to lead the splinter group for the missions. It wasn't long then before he decided to up and leave them, regarding the entire thing ludicrous and not worth his time or effort if they had the "_audacity to choose incompetence over talent." _

"Sven!" she shouted after him when he refused to turn around when his brother was calling after him. The name ensured that the white-haired boy actually turned.

It was a hard-edged, red-eyed glare that met her. "I said, you are **not allowed** to call me that atrocious name or I will string your innards on barbed wire."

"Where are you going? You haven't even said anything to Uncle Joe-"

"Tch," he hissed simply, then turned around again to continue on his way. The large bags and suitcase dragging behind him, he took no more notice of what she was saying. Even if she was calling him by the name he preferred.

"_Albedo_, come back here!" She was scared to tell their adoptive parents of what had just happened. Of what to say. If their cousin didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be found. She didn't want to be the bringer of bad news and possibly confirm her Aunt Camille's worries.

From her side, his brother was wearing a look of concern.


	4. Chapter 4

"_**It is better to light one candle than curse the darkness." - American Christopher Society**__._

_

* * *

_

_The Girl_

_**Have you got a house on a hill and a bed for three?**_

_**Do you have a story? Do you have a story for me?**_

_**Do you know the one where we all live happily?**_

Carrying the world on his shoulders was all in a day's work. What was different was putting the world aside, ignoring that it was even there at all, and spending his time kicking a ball in a net. It was stupid and simple and awesome. It's the stuff that got him called a 'Neanderthal' by his missing twin. Which just told Ben that his twin needed to lose the attitude and take it easy. All work and no play made a crazy, violent person like his twin anyway.

Using his knee to bounce the soccer ball a few times, then passing it lower to be cupped on his foot, bounced it once, then kicked it towards the goal. He was the only one playing in the soccer field of the local sports training center. He didn't really check what time the schedule for the state team's practice was. Too busy occupying his mind with practicing his footwork.

He used to be the goalkeeper of his high school team but he didn't really plan on going professional. Too much attention.

_Oh, he loved attention; don't get him wrong_. He soaked in it when he could. Ever since his Grandpa and parents died, he decided not to call too much limelight. If only to respect what his Grandpa would've wanted, he followed the practical way. Besides, it wasn't cool when the System took too much notice of him. It wasn't the kind of attention he liked.

As he sped down closer to the goal, he kicked the soccer ball again. That was when he heard someone start clapping. A small part of him noticed the ball bounce on the goal post instead when he turned to face the person who was in the field too. He didn't get a good look when the ball slammed on the side of his face.

_Ow. _It made him dizzy. He clutched his head while he stumbled two steps back.

"Are you okay?" a decidedly feminine voice called out in concern. He could hear the footsteps before he finally focused on the person who was watching him play. Dark brown eyes stared back at him. His brain quickly told him to get his act together.

"Yeah!" he piped up with too much enthusiasm. He stumbled a little again, which made him burst out into a nervous chuckle. _He was so retarded with girls_.

She started giggling. It didn't sound like she was making fun of him, just joining in on his laughter.

"You're a little early," she said conversationally.

"Huh?" he asked, cluelessness that was extra loser-ish.

"For your team practice," she clarified, pointing a thumb at the schedule at the front door of the indoor soccer field.

"Oh," he said in realization. He started waving his hands. "I'm not part of the state soccer team. I'm just messing around. Playing for fun. That sorta thing." He knew he was losing cookie points admitting that he wasn't one of the athletes. He just told her the truth anyway because she was bound to find out in the end.

"That's cool, too," she said in all honesty.

He blinked. _So, he wasn't coming across as a wannabe loser?_ His lips broke into a smile. "My name's Ben Freeman," he introduced himself, extending his hand out. He hoped his hand wasn't sweating or something.

Her warm, small hand wrapped around his. "Nice to meet you, Ben." Her dark eyes twinkled.

It would be creepy and weird if he accidentally blurted out that he thought she had such nice, soft hands. Instead he just scrunched his eyebrows and pointed out, "You look familiar."

"Really?" she asked.

"I've seen you before. I just can't remember where," he continued to say, racking his brain for the memory that failed him.

Then her watch started to beep, breaking him out of his thoughts. She clicked it to stop the alarm. "Oops! I'll be late for tennis practice. I gotta go," she excused, nudging her head to the direction of the door. "If you want, you can drop over to watch my game when you're finished playing."

"Uh, yeah," he agreed. "Okay. Cool." His brain was slowly clicking in the cog wheels. _Tennis practice._ He didn't watch it that much other than clicking the TV on the US Open when there was nothing else to watch.

She started to jog out of the soccer field to go to the tennis courts on the other area of the sports center. Just as she was leaving and he'd picked up the soccer ball again, the state players finally arrived for their practice. All of twelve players and their coach hassled him out.

The girl he met hadn't completely left when he was forced to jog after her, away from the aggressive soccer team trying to get rid of the pest sneaking into their territory.

"They don't like you very much?" she asked after him in an amused tone as he caught up.

"The don't like me very much," he confirmed, glancing back at his old varsity team. He turned back to her. He piped in excitedly, "Hey, looks like I'll be watching your game."

"Hope it's not boring for you."

Thoughtfully, he asked, "You said tennis game not chess, right?"

She started laughing in that sweet, tinkling laughter he realized he couldn't get enough of.

They finally arrived in the tennis court, where the girl she was practicing with was already there.

"New boy toy?" the blonde girl asked, using the hand holding the yellow ball to wave at the two of them. "He's cute." His face was probably burning bright red since he could feel the heat that rose on his cheeks.

"That's real funny, Carol," the girl beside him responded, going over the benches to pick up a tennis racket. She fiddled with the strings on it for a while before she let her hand down beside her. "You know I have rules on boy toys and bringing them to practice games."

The two girls started laughing. Julie just gestured at him not worry about it and they were just joking around.

_Wait, she didn't disagree about the 'cute' comment_. His face was probably burning even more. He really shouldn't get his hope up too much. He barely had girlfriends at all.

As he watched the girls play and focused on the movements of the girl who invited him over, the cogwheels finally clicked. "You're Julie Yamamoto!" he exclaimed, breaking the girls' concentration. She was in the top players of her sport and he somewhat recognized her from the, er, _professional modelling_ magazine spreads.

The ball bounced several times over the blonde girl's side.

"Your boy toy doesn't even know your name?" the blonde girl asked in disbelief.

"I didn't tell you my name?" Julie asked in his direction, looking a little sheepish over her lack of courtesy.

* * *

_She was a lot of fun to be with._ She laughed at his puns, she knew what 'Sumo Slammers' was and she didn't think he was a complete and total loser.

"So, those guys were your team-mates?" she asked curiously, placing the towel on her lap and pausing from drinking the Gatorade in her other hand.

"They used to be, back in college," he explained, fiddling with her tennis ball in his hand. "We used to have a ball back then." One green eye winked in her direction and she couldn't help but laugh at it. It was probably so unfunny that it got back to being funny again. "Now the only thing that happens to balls around me is them wanting to rip mine off." He stared at the white lines on tennis court blankly, eyebrows raised and lips pursed together.

"What in the world happened that would make them hate you so much?" Her thin, delicate eyebrows were scrunched in confusion.

"I know!" he agreed, shrugging. "I'm such a likable, awesome guy-" One of her eyebrows was rising high into her bangs. "I'm just kidding." He put the tennis ball down beside her racket. "I left them at an important season. They were really close, but I had other plans in mind and I got the chance to get into that. They sorta lost because they couldn't get another goalkeeper that was any good and they were used to playing with." He shrugged.

"What did you do instead?" she asked, honestly very interested.

He'd never had someone be so engrossed in what he had to say. He scratched at his cheek shyly. "Well, I had a little business thing I was planning on setting up then. I even got the loan at that time. I couldn't be on soccer practice while I was trying to get the place built."

"Oh my goodness," she gasped in amazement. "That's wonderful! You're really young to be setting up your own business. I'm impressed!" His heart was racing a million miles an hour at the idea that she though he was _wonderful_ and she was _impressed_ with him. "What business did you set up?"

"Well," he tried to introduce the idea without heavily implying how totally nerdy it was that he did something like it. "It's a bar- you know, alcoholic drinks and the works. With smoothies."

She blinked.

"Do you like smoothies?" he asked, eyes wide in trying to get some sign of approval.

There was a little giggle first. "What kind of crazy person wouldn't like smoothies?"

She was the most perfect girl in the whole entire world and no one could convince him otherwise.

**Can I be the girl that you met?**

**

* * *

**

Love to Hate pt. 2

She was very, very much against the use of guns to hurt anyone fatally. Since she had no experience with them, it was a risk she usually couldn't make.

Fury. She was so angry and scared and panicked. She was so much of all of these that she, naturally caring and empathic that she usually was, ignored the fact that he looked like he was in so much pain. The doors were pretty stable so far but she could hear the soldiers trying to barge through.

All that repeated in her mind as a kind of self-preservation desire, was to amp up her anger. So she sunk down to where he was lying, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck in as tight a grip that he kept on his leg. He looked panicked when he received a gunshot on his thigh and was desperately trying to staunch the bleeding. They were both on the high of trying to protect their lives. While he was focused entirely on saving his own life, she was focused on saving herself. _Otherwise, who would find her babies?_

The panicked curses continued as he tore his own clothes to wrap them around his leg. She didn't care that he looked even paler than his usually pale self. He jolted forward with red eyes wide as she pulled him to glare right at him.

"You're not allowed to die, do you understand?" she snapped, gripping his front furiously. The wooden weapon she used as a feeble lock on the door cracked audibly and her head turned to the sound. Then with equal parts pleading and demanding at the man in front of her, she continued to say, "You have no right to leave while my kids are still out there!"

He was breathing hard, barely looking at her. Eyes occasionally flicked to the door that was piled with as much of the furniture, then to his injury, to her, and cycled in a panic.

She couldn't help but scream when there were gunshots delivered to the door to weaken the hinges. It was brief. For the most part, her body decided being scared was stupid and low on the priority list.

"Do something," she said to him, clutching his front in desperation. "Do something!"

A bullet ricocheted at the wall near where the two of them were crouched. In panic, she pulled the gun from her person and turned to point it at the soldiers making their way inside. Her hands trembled, out of fear and inability to coax herself to outright killing somebody. She hoped it was just to injure so that she could run. Where to go without her more navigationally skilled companion, she didn't know.

So much of herself, her own heart, was being destroyed recently. She'd never been forced to answer things like 'would she abandon somebody to die?', 'would she kill someone despite her pacifistic nature if worst came to worst?' It never occurred to her how sheltered she was until then.

Hands reached out from behind her, steadying her trembling hands to almost firm, complete stillness. Quiet, labored breathing was just audible beside her, his chin placed on her shoulder. He slowly guided her hand to point the gun downwards.

"Look at the top of the barrel and focus on the front sight. Tell me what you see," he said, somewhat out of breath. She could hear a few grunts of pain as he moved. "Stop moving." She forced herself to be completely still.

This was incredibly difficult because of the soldier who was managing to get inside and she had to focus lower than where that guy's gun was.

"I see kneecap," she tried to say, holding her body still.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" she snapped, nerves too on edge as the soldier nearly went inside. She could see his hand movements at the corner of her eyes.

Her companion stilled the two of them like statues before he pulled the trigger once, twice. The man behind the door lurched in pain, blocking the rest of his companions from properly entering.

She took this as a cue to pull free from her companion and stand up. Grabbing his arm, she coaxed him upwards. "Come on!" All the while, he was trying to be very careful not to induce too much pressure on his injured leg so he wouldn't bleed to death and slowly trying to get himself up. As cruel as it was to keep pulling at him at his state, she knew that he would die faster if he stayed there.

She doubted that the soldiers would take too kindly to him in general. While his plan may be working on the higher ups, the rookies probably considered him a special kind of trouble. If what he was saying about her husband was true, whatever he planned for her was just nothing short of optimistic.

They looked absolutely, mind-bogglingly stupid. Trying to run from the soldiers with her taller - and _heavy_ - companion leaning on her for stability convinced her she was not athletic enough. They tried anyway. Scrambling for shielding in the trees and the geography, he tried to help lead her to the areas that would help them lose their pursuers. All the while, they were being shot at.

Hiding under a ditch, having rolled down the steep from losing footing, she tried to stop breathing altogether when the soldiers tried to find them from there. On the other hand, he was too busy holding his leg after the effort of running had made him bleed even more. But he was quiet. She could see that that probably took a lot of effort. He seemed the kind to make a commotion in frustration.

* * *

Sometimes, monsters were made. Other times, they were born. In a universe fashioned to be a mold for monstrosity, one expected the entire population it housed, it bred, to be made completely of monsters. He believed that those stupid schlock films of gore and horror - when they were lacking in substance enough to pass through censors - didn't match for the true monsters that existed. Sometimes, he believed that they could even be beautiful.

More lip biting. Whenever she was nervous, she resorted to biting her bottom lip. He'd never been able to watch her that up close to realize she did that. It was only recently, in the very small quiet moments where they weren't being attacked to be captured, that he could. Her lips were no longer wet with the pinkish hue of her lipstick. Just dry and horribly bitten.

Personally, he honestly didn't know whether the desire to see her conform to his belief was self-destructive or not. He didn't have the open-mindedness to consider that a human being was anything else other than truly horrible. She wasn't family, after all. Not really. He also withheld that knowledge from her pointedly. That way, it would show that people never protected anything else other than their own.

Statistics. He was good with equations, with mechanics and designs. Never people. Statistics were material that he could understand. He could put numbers together in a way that made sense. They always fell logically into place.

People never did that. They were unpredictable and horrible. They made variables confusing and always went a certain way that he never expected. So it was easy to just make assumptions and follow through from there. Of course, educated guesses with people always surprised him when things boiled over.

Behind the statistics were people like her. Distancing himself from people had made it easy for him to look at them as numbers: the numbers that clocked in on government data at the end of the day. Population number, taxation systems, military backup, land area. Just how much and how many. He was a lot more in sync with the calculating government mentality than his brother was, which baffled him why they regarded his twin as somehow better in leading the rebellion. That was one man he was sure couldn't do the math.

He hissed when she wrapped the cloth around his leg too tightly. She looked up. "I'm sorry." Then she looked back down to continue wrapping the pieces of cloth more carefully.

He was _not_ about to make some kind of jaded, tasteless joke about their compromising position. He hated being anywhere near his brother and his company for any length of time. It was probably that disgusting double agent friend of his cousin's that was infecting him with that kind of thought pattern.

There was something very surreal about the woman helping him and saying sorry after what he had just done yesterday. Perhaps he was right that she was finally losing her mind. Or maybe he just wasn't able to reconcile with the idea of someone refusing to be what he expected.

"I don't know how much longer we can stay here. They might look back around here again," she started, worriedly looking around without sticking her head out to far to be seen. "Maybe we should start looking for somewhere else to hide if you feel better."

She was somehow becoming used to the chaos around her. It was as if she coped by being sane and insane at the same time. Sane to help protect herself, insane to deal with the horror.

"This wound won't be closing up with the bullet," he agreed. Grunting as he readied himself to stand, he nudged his head in the general direction of his other end point.

An inspection tower. The cameras. While it may not have other important documentation that the System obsessively and methodically collected, there were videos. It would provide an interesting conversation piece with the System. With all the important pieces to metaphorically hold the balls of every player important in this fight, he was putting himself even higher on the hierarchy than even they expected.

With great effort, still muttering and complaining under his breath not unlike the other assistant Dr. Azmuth had, he stood up. "Let's go."

He was sane. But he was incredibly self-righteous - Gwendolyn and himself were definitely family. It was an extreme enough belief in his own philosophy that it was like twisting reality to see it in a way that made sense to that righteousness. Some of the sanest men in the world would destroy it in the pursuit of a greater good, simply because that belief was real to them. So he was _sane_.

Besides, it was that same sanity that had laid out his plans in intricate detail. It was a completely reliable aspect of himself. The only thing that really drove him crazy was the marked absence of chili fries. It was a shot in the dark to hope the inspection tower had some.

* * *

A Mother's Love

**So take my hands and come with me**

**We will change reality**

**So take my hands and we will pray**

**They won't take you away**

Sometimes she wondered how she wouldn't just shoot him in the face for what he did.

He was good with calculations, machinery and weaponry. For the short time they were together, she quickly picked up on what he was like. Something about her just easily reached out to people - a simple desire to understand and accept. There was hardly any of that lately. Especially during the war being waged, acceptance and openness to different types of people was hard to find. Villainization and pointing fingers made things easier to justify actions.

She knew it was his inherent practicality and misguided overconfidence that made him give her a handgun. He taught her _how to use it. _If she was any other woman, the moment he told her how to load the gun, unlock the safety and pull the trigger, she would've put a bullet through his skull.

It was a combination of exhaustion and delusional optimism that saved his life. Enough repetition inside her head and she was convinced her kids were fine- that they just needed looking for. She caused too much of a commotion when told otherwise. He got the hint and shut up; instead focusing on their predicament.

Sometimes, the idea of putting the bullet through her own head became too enticing but she was too cowardly to do it. _And who would pick up her kids?_

They must have been so scared in the forest. They weren't used to it. Her Kenny was brave though, he would walk through those trees like a real soldier. She hoped there was an adult telling him to watch out for large roots that could trip him. But her little Gwenny would be frightened of all the creepy crawlies. She hoped that someone was carrying her baby girl so she wouldn't have to be scared of the things wriggling in the soil.

It was chance. Completely by chance that they crossed these people. The two of them had been passing by soldiers, criminals, groups of frightened people that her companion pointedly ignored and dead bodies. She never expected it. Despite the desperate desire to believe that it would happen, she never thought it would actually happen.

Two people. A man with glasses which he nervously pushed up and a woman whose jovial face was dotted with freckles. They seemed like nice people and _they were_. They had been hiding away, the woman holding Julie's baby boy in her arms.

She and her companion were running - he seemed to be getting better from or at least getting better at ignoring his injury. They came across the two while they were being closely followed by the soldiers. Enough information in the inspection tower had made her companion curse as if things weren't going right. Since he wasn't saying anything, she just decided to concede and run.

So they've been running and that was when they encountered the two people who had her son.

They were pretty obscured for those few moments. When she saw it, his dark brown hair and large dark green eyes looking up from where the lady was carrying him. She only saw him mouth the word 'Mommy' rather than heard it. The first thing she heard was herself, bursting to tears.

She ran faster, choking out his name through the tears. It felt like all the strength that had been sapped from her had been returned full force. The world seemed brighter, better. The darkness of that forest seemed less so. All of her fear and desperation completely snuffed out by the overwhelming sense of joy.

_Her baby was alive._

And all was finally right in the world.

She was gripping him in her arms as the woman readily gave her child back to her. She barely heard the woman say that her Kenny had been 'such a good boy' and that her 'students were barely as well-behaved.' Rubbing her cheek against his hair, she held him so tightly to confirm what she was seeing was real.

"Mommy, it hurts," Kenny complained.

The man wearing glasses told her that her child needed to recuperate a bit more. He had done his best and removed the bullet as cleanly as he could and now the wound just needed a bit more time to close. Her baby was lucky his vital organs were somehow missed. He was a veterinarian and wasn't entirely used to treating people but he had good enough background to help fix as much of the injury as he could. Her child apparently still needed to be taken to a physician.

She apologized profusely to her baby and noticed the strips of cloth around his middle. _Of course, of course. _She wanted to turn around to the culprit who had caused her boy that pain and wanted to demand, wanted him to see-

"Hide!" her companion shouted as he pushed past the shrubbery, before the multitude of gunshots were fired.

Instinctively, she gripped her child harder and blindly ran. At the corner of her eyes, she saw the lady who had been carrying her boy fall to the ground. There were more wounds than even that vet could probably salvage. She fell to the ground within the bushes as she covered her boy and she felt something lodge on her shoulder. For a while she couldn't really feel that she was injured.

The way her companion whipped his head removed the red hoodie and revealed the stark white hair on his head. He aimed well and shots were fired. It was probably adrenaline maintaining his endurance.

She closed her eyes when the man with the glasses fell to the forest floor beside her, his eyes unseeing. Meanwhile she kept her child underneath her as she crawled further into the bushes to hide herself. The branches snagged at her dress and her skin but she kept pushing on. The only thing she aimed for was to keep protecting her child.

All the while, her baby boy just whimpered as his hand was stained with _her_ blood.

* * *

He looked irritated. While the man looked permanently dissatisfied with the world, there was a special kind of anger that he held for the idea of her son being alive. It was probably time for her to up and leave, now that she had her little boy. All she needed to do was find her little girl and they could escape that horrible place.

While her companion seemed more than happy for her son to go, he looked incredibly angered over the idea of her leaving.

"Don't be stupid," the white-hired man snapped, the expression on his face so very alien on someone who owned her husband's face. This frustrated her even more. "You might as well sign a death warrant, you foolish woman."

"I'm signing my child's if I stay here with you," she said coldly, holding her child closer. Her shoulder was shooting sharp pain all over her arm, increasing her ire towards him more.

"What an astute observation," he reacted snidely.

She pivoted swiftly, ignoring the hurt that accompanied the movement.

"I am losing patience with you," he stated in an even colder tone that actually frightened her. Something about the coolness of it reminded her of her husband's own anger.

She only moved faster to leave.

"Keep going and I will make sure to kill you first so your child can watch," he stated in a monotone. "Then the inevitable happens."

She stopped short and hesitated. Her baby in her arms and the handgun in her pocket. Inexperienced shooter. Injured shoulder and tired legs. Her mind enumerated why she would lose.

_Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. _

Taking in deep breaths and listening to her son make small sounds of fear, she turned back. Blood red eyes. A rifle on his side. He was standing in a much less crooked way than before. In fact, he was standing ramrod straight, chin raised in that intensely arrogant way.

Slowly, she walked back to where he was. Her heart stopped hammering when the rifle on his side lowered in a more lax position.

* * *

She was getting so tired. So very sleepy and tired. It was that wound on her shoulder.

"Why don't you try and fix this? You're a doctor, aren't you?" she asked in the general direction of her white haired companion. "It said so in your papers." The one in the suitcase that wasn't there anymore. At some point, he abandoned the suitcase and simply carried his weapons and ammunition. He didn't seem to make a big deal over losing it, which might meant he intended to leave it.

"Unless you're a radioactive substance or a mathematical equation, there's nothing I can do with you," he answered simply, placing his rifle on his lap and staring at her condescendingly.

She felt horrible but she forced her eyes open while Kenny napped against some tree roots in front of her.

Her eyes shot open in surprise. Cold sweat dripped down her nape.

"I said: _be quiet, brat_," the figure in the red jacket snapped, pointing the barrel of his weapon straight at her son.

Her blood blazed when Kenny cried even more.

The gun found its was easily into her hand as she took the few steps to get close enough to point it directly at his head. Platinum hair parted slightly around the barrel of her hand gun. She was only shoulder height with him, just like her husband. Her mind told her, in its quiet acceptance, that this could very well be her husband's brother. She absolutely _couldn't give a damn_. The hammer was pulled down with a simple click.

"I watched it once and I will never be forced to watch it again," she said calmly.

For a moment, there was silence. "Tch," he clicked his tongue disbelievingly. "You've never found the courage to pull that gun. Not before, not in any other opportunity. What would convince me you will actually do something this time?"

She wondered in all the world how it was possible for her husband and this man to have been blood related. There was nothing more gut-wrenching than the concept. Though he could have been driven insane by the circumstances of his life. No way was she letting an unstable man waste her child's life. She wasn't going to sit on the sidelines anymore.

"Try me," she said in her same cool tone.

His head moved a small fraction and the rifle, from where she could see, wavered in its position. Then it was lowered down, away from where her child was.

Hurriedly heading over to her son, she scooped him up and cradled him. Wrapping her arms around him and covering him completely, hushing soothingly at him. He made small cries of pain because of his gunshot.

"You caused this anyway, you shouldn't be complaining about why he's crying," she remarked in icy anger.

"I did not expect him to live to cry about it," the man said honestly, but his stiff but not aggressive body posture suggested he wasn't going to be shooting anyone any time soon.

Either way, she held her baby boy so that he couldn't be hurt anymore. When her baby finally fell asleep, she allowed herself the small luxury of joining him in that nap. All in the back of her head, she was reminded of her earlier question. The last thing in her mind as she drifted off was the word _desperation._

**They will never make me cry, no**

**T****hey will never make me die**


	5. Chapter 5

Uneasy Lies the Head 

It was particularly ingratiating to him that through the years of leadership that the one thing that seemed to have formed was a misleading twist of the truth to turn him into a mythical fearful beast. It created beliefs around his position that was almost ludicrous. Dream-like. Nightmarish. As if he was this tentacled creature that rose from the depths of the ocean to terrorize mankind.

The years have diluted history, making people forget that they have actually voted him in and backed all his propaganda. Back then. A few decades have already passed.

It made him forget he was human at all.

From that time, all the depleting resources and the rampant destruction of morality that his country had outraged him. It was as if the world had gone wild and this was reflecting on their economy, the respect that the country had internationally, crime rates and unemployment rates increasing. Then terrorism. No more respect for the greatest power.

At some point, he'd decided himself that enough was enough. Because while he had only migrated to the country, it was his home. These were his people, foolish and misguided idiots that they may have been.

Even then in his youth, he had wild ambitions. High aspirations. As it was, greed was important to keep one's self going. One thing had been sure in his life and that if he wasn't on the reins directing himself and the people within the right path, it would all just burn.

So he promised what was necessary: Security, protection, to rekindle the justified respect those opposing outsiders had for their great country. To bring back all the principles the country had lost in the process of all the blind attempts to please itself without regards of what was good for it. People listened, perhaps in the belief and admiration they held for someone that looked the way he did. His militaristic background helped to cement his competence to fight against wrongdoers, his degree in law giving him plenty of background on governance. His tall, dominating silhouette - something he had to thank his race for - was an imposing figure they believed was just the right one to lead them.

It was probably the stereotypes behind his previous nationality that made people think of their primitive, destructive nature. This disregarded the fact that they were just as mortal as that country and had their own vulnerabilities - starting with poverty. But it mattered little because he barely identified with his race anymore.

At the time, anger and grief fuelled the demands that sought him out. The masses rallied behind his propaganda and elected him into position. He simply lived up to what he marketed himself as.

But it had, perhaps, become too strict and stifling even for its own people. Trying to negotiate more time for his position, considering how the few years designated for presidency barely did anything to really push his projects into realization, he gave them some leeway. It was something of a bribe or pulling the wool over their eyes to give them hedonistic hobbies to occupy their time with.

But then it worked for them too, the system becoming strapped for financial back up as it was. The money that was circulated in the black market for such deals - the gambling and the drugs - went to funding the projects. Militarizing, training, education and fighting back their foreign enemies cost money after all.

Not enough. During those times, the natural resources of the country were also depleting. They needed more than what they could provide. Then the rising population numbers and decreasing housing what with the land sizes becoming increasingly more occupied exacerbated the situation. He needed more time to fix this problem. So he was re-elected yet again.

It was done so squeezing all the droplets of charismatic nature he may have had. And if those were not enough, more aggressive negotiation was implemented. The people still wanted to delude themselves in the concept of having control and a voice through their voting systems. But the problem was if they were given control of their own country they dragged it down with them; all their loud ignorance and constant arguments. The damned push and pull to whichever indecisive idea needed to finally be severed. He needed to break the tie and make the decision for them or there would be no progression. Just stagnation. Perhaps even deterioration.

There were only two terms available for the position. It was only understandable back then when the country was still great. It did not take into account the desperation that it was currently suffering through. So he took his power to supersede the law and pass an amendment to fix the issue of his ability to remain in power.

For a time the crime rates had decreased considerably. The curfew that had been implemented prevented untrustworthy individuals that loitered at night. The cameras saw everything to put everyone to justice who so much as put their foot wrong.

It wasn't within his rule to discriminate on anyone, this was an eventual development created by his numerous elderly advisors and the people within the lower houses of the government. But he understood the necessity for profiling; certain figures were just simply statistically more crime-inclined than others. This was why things got out of hand.

Though people seemed to have a better understanding back then of these laws' necessity. Lately there were groups of people who were beginning to complain. Complaints gave way to rowdiness and chaos, which he couldn't have in his regime. So he had to put a stop to that. They understood better when they were _talked to_.

The increased military power allowed him to take the next step in giving his people larger land mass to occupy and acquire resources that were decreasing. Oil, minerals and numerous things were in greater demand at the increase of industrialization, but the lands have been sapped at its very core. People just didn't seem to understand that their numbers were staggering and their needs were too much more than the available materials can handle.

The population was growing and resources were dwindling. Military power was sent to conquer other lands to amass the assets they lacked and population was controlled heavily at first through a rigid family plan. Two children per house unless the others were acquired through adoption. But this wasn't enough. _It just was never enough._ So the training missions were set up. Two birds with one stone. It helped with training the military with moving, intelligent targets while also helping with the population problem. Later on when this still proved to be too little an effect on the numbers of people, the processing camps were created.

Things were withdrawn from the masses, if only to control their rampant emotionality: suggestive texts, images and any other medium that struck a chord of irrational chaos. Just to maintain the peace. Then he provided them means to occupy themselves with other things. Gambling, certain non-destructive substances they took that kept them quiet and mellow. He provided them good education, efficient medical attention, prouder buildings and structures that heralded them as the greatest civilization of its time and most importantly: security. If only to sacrifice a few inefficient things, which occasionally included people. It was replaced with better circumstances for the rest who were more useful.

Every piece of headache, all his own. It was all for a good cause. All for them. _They never understood this. _

At first it had begun with the rounding talk that practically demonized him. He barely showed up in public, if only to protect himself from those who only saw through their own pain without understanding why this was a small sacrifice. This was likely the reason why even some of his own soldiers believed he was some kind of genetically enhanced monster - tentacles where his beard originally was. It brought a dark smile to his face.

But at least his loyals knew that this imaginary monster they thought of him was practically God-sent if in comparison to the countries that attacked and villainized them. Treated them like ignorant, war-mongers. They didn't think that it was simply in response to their own disrespect and cruelty.

_What were they supposed to do? Stand back? _

So he gave them what they expected. Then multi-tasked in the same process.

Things went by as smoothly as it could. The rest of the attempts to overthrow him, by his own underlings or by over-ambitious ragtag rebels, were easily brought down.

Then Max Tennyson happened. He was by far his biggest headache. So he did what needed to be done before things grew out of control. He thought this man and his breed of chaotic vermin had been rid of. He had even taken his group's major financier, Donovan Grand-Smith, out of commission. The finances were used for much better causes than this rampant destruction of government facilities and security posts.

He thought this was the end of it. But the remains of Max Tennyson's grandchildren or Grand-Smith's grandson were nowhere to be found after the clean up.

He had always believed these forms of terrorism, how miserable it was occurring within his own shores, would keep returning. His men had been investigating a suspicious name that had cropped up through the years of tracking the activity of Tennyson's terrorist group. There were many names, but this particular one seemed to crop up a few times more than the others.

**Ben Freeman. **

The investigation was still rather dubious. Whatever it was, if the group was still in operation, its new leader was cleaner. He knew better in how to sweep up his tracks and put a believably innocent smile. But it wouldn't take long. All of them cracked by the end of the day. They would give up enough evidences where they could be taken in for questioning.

Perhaps it was just paranoia. But it was always the most reliable instinct he felt. He supposed it was the one true belief in the universe - one that wasn't a white lie, a half truth or an out and out lie.

_Uneasy lay the head that wore the crown. _

* * *

Growing Up

There were things about himself that he was proud of, just the little things, like being able to gulp cups upon cups of smoothies in one sitting. There were more things about himself that he wasn't proud of.

Those were the days he wasn't proud of being a leader; that he wasn't proud of who he was.

It was the first time. The practice and the training never really prepared for the actual thing. He was fifteen and leading the group; much to the annoyance of some of his slightly older acquaintances. It was the inclusion of Uncle Joel providing headquarters direction that made the annoyance less loud. The majority of responsibility still lay on his shoulders, but his Uncle deflected the rest from complaining about him being top dog for a while.

It was his first time being given lead in infiltrating one of the government's training areas where a session was about to be conducted. He had only been to one of those things about three times and he was always following orders instead. Retrieve information, try to secretly snitch away the targets in the training session and act if the entire thing escalated. The mission protocol remained similar. It was the situations that changed.

He had separated the team, one to flank the observation towers and make communication between the soldiers difficult and the others with him to assist in collecting the targets. People. On buses or cars, just traveling. Probably going on holidays or visiting relatives in the next state. People with families and friends who were going to be told lies about what happened to them. He bristled at the mere thought of it even then.

The session had already begun after they entered. Scheduling for those things weren't exactly specific, which made stopping the entire thing right at the start difficult. They weren't usually sure that the places were training sessions. Some of them were just border lines. Everywhere had military guarding the area. Everywhere. It usually took a bit of information gathering to find the places or the rebellion could seriously bite off more than it could chew if they found a central military grounds. They had few people enough as it went, they couldn't lose more people.

It was important that by the end of that mission, he kept his group and the innocents alive. If God willing, hopefully the rookies on that session would just be taken in by the rebel group rather than put down too. It was his objective. Everyone knew how much he took things seriously when it was his aim.

He was put into a very difficult situation. There was so much happening. There was another child there and her grandfather. He was just trying so badly to protect them. There were a few soldiers trying to take those people down and it didn't make much sense to him. A kick, disarming, use his gun as a blunt weapon. Trying so badly to keep it non-lethal. So badly.

He was alone since he sent off his team forward at the area with more people to save while he took the brunt of distracting the soldiers that had found them. It was probably a bad decision on his part, but he got a little rattled and his mind honed in on his objective first and foremost.

Those people weren't supposed to be there. Those rookies were multi-tasking when they also tried to shoot down the girl and her grandfather. He was occupied and he couldn't do anything but shoot randomly when one soldier found a good aim on the old man. The shot was what one would call lucky if they wanted to kill someone. He didn't. It took a while to register. The girl and the old man had run as fast as they could. He had knocked out and injured most of the soldiers.

One of them he killed.

_It was his first time. _

He tried to feel cold about it. As one did when one was trying to rationalize what they've just done. As one did when one tried to distance one's self from the situation.

But he walked towards the soldier carefully, just to check. He was young - maybe just a little older than himself really. Beside the body lay a picture that had floated off the young man's pocket. Against the screaming in his head telling him not to, he picked the photograph up.

He looked at the picture of a mother's smile, a father's pride and a younger brother's admiration. The world crashed around him.

The mission had been relatively successful. The survivor numbers were still better than the usual zero. His entire group was able to come back. Everything else went by smoothly.

He went home. His adoptive parents stared at his silence in concern, his cousins were trying to make him more lively while his twin ignored him as per usual. But he stayed quiet, ate his really late dinner and went to bed. He couldn't sleep.

_When he walked down to the kitchen to get a glass of water, he bumped into his Uncle Joel._

"_Ben," the older man had said kindly, holding his shoulder to stop him when he kept on walking. "Are you alright?"_

_He stared at the floor. "I'm always alright," he responded simply._

"_Kid, I'm pretty good at interrogation," Joel said dryly. "Not looking at me is a stereotypical lying sign."_

_When he looked up, his uncle's head moved back. He didn't know if it was surprise or disbelief or horror. Ben didn't really know what his uncle saw._

"_I'm not okay but I will be," he tried to say, a grim smile lacing on his face. _

_His uncle's expression only grew more worried. _

"_Ben," Joel stated firmly. "Talk to me."_

"…_I'm just not in a talky mood tonight," he excused, redirecting his attention to the ground again. "Maybe tomorrow. I'm tired."_

"_You look horrible," his uncle noted, to which Ben felt inclined to produce a sort of chuckle. "I was going to say something less kid-friendly, but Camille's gonna kill me." _

"_You could try the word turd instead?" he suggested jokingly, but the joke felt cold. _

"_Or you could tell me what's eating you," the older man remarked. _

_He blinked so many times up at his uncle, he must have looked like he was about to cry. He grinned instead. "Stuff. Just the usual. Whatever kids like me angst about. Stuff," he responded vaguely, shrugging. _

_After giving him a once over, his uncle waved him over to sit at the nearby kitchen table. "Maybe it's time I talk to you about the birds and the be-"_

"_No!" he exclaimed, louder than he should have. He half expected his twin to throw something at him from the upstairs bedroom for waking him up. Whenever he was noisy from his nightmares, or those occasional times his stress-induced teeth grinding or snoring got too loud, his twin would throw an alarm clock or a book at his head or try to smother him with a pillow. So he toned down his voice to a murmur. "Not that one," he said sheepishly._

"_Yeah, I know. I was just teasing you," Uncle Joel remarked, chuckling in a low tone all the while. The humor eventually gave way to seriousness. "Ben, family's the only ones that we can really depend on." As if a painful memory was suddenly recollected, Joel's eyes widened for a second then closed, his lips quirked in a wry smile. "Even then sometimes, not really. But those that offer their help, you should never be scared about taking it." His uncle smiled at him reassuringly. "And from what it looks like, you're the kind of tired who also can't sleep."_

"_Wait, how'd you know I wasn't asleep?" Ben had to ask in surprise. _

"_No snoring sounds," his uncle replied, shrugging._

"_Really? I snore that loud?" Ben asked worriedly. _

"_Your brother sleeps like a rock," Joel explained. "If it's eerily quiet, I can bet you're not sleeping. Though I bet Sven's probably sleeping well now. And Gwen. And Ken." Ben gave him a puppy-eyed, pathetic look. "But I still can't be comforted if you're not sleeping well. So spill."_

_He felt a smile rise on his face. His uncle was doing his best to make him feel at ease enough to talk. But he just wasn't the talky sort of person. Not even with his family. His only family. After his grandfather and his parents were taken away from him. _

_Maybe it was because the people who he had been closest to, the ones he used to tell his problems to had disappeared and he was scared that it would happen all over again. But it was mostly because there were so many who depended on him to be strong. He couldn't afford to be weak. His brother had been sick all his life, but he'd never felt the way that Ben did. Ben just had no right to be weaker. _

_His fingers traced the photograph in his pyjama pocket. _

"_If you can feel okay with it, then I can too," he responded mysteriously, trying to not sound as broken he did. "Maybe I just need time."_

"_Time for what?" his uncle asked, looking intensely worried._

"_To get over it," he explained a bit more, but without revealing anything truly important. _

_For a moment silence descended. The expression on his uncle's face was something he couldn't really understand. Some of it seemed to just be thinking and understanding._

"_Sometimes you just can't get over something," his uncles responded, in as vague a tone as his. "Sometimes you live with it. Because forgetting can be difficult and you have to lose your heart just to make it disappear in your head. But it's the worst thing in the world to sacrifice more of who you are just to forget. You do what you have to do. Maybe that hurts but it's good to hurt once in a while to know your heart's still beating." _

_He blinked several times. Mouth gaped then closed. "Are you reading my mind?" Ben asked warily._

"_So I'm right?" his uncle responded enthusiastically, piping up as if getting it right was rare. "Relationships, right?" Ben snorted in amusement and scratched his head as his adoptive father said that last thing._

"_I'm going to sleep," he bid, yawning widely. He smiled at his Uncle Joel, who seemed less tense after the conversation. He felt as if he was practically echoing his uncle's posture. "Thank you for talking to me." He turned to leave._

"_No problem, kiddo." The smile served to lift the load from his back. "Oh and before you go:" his uncle added, as Ben took his first step on the stairs. His uncle looked as if he was looking right through him, past whatever he was trying to keep. "It's not your fault." His uncle's expression was somber. "When things get desperate, you just do what you can. You're just human. Some things you can't resolve. Don't beat yourself up for it."_

_For a while he just stood on the stairs and stared at his uncle leave. He felt his hand squeeze around the photograph and stop only after he realized it was starting to wrinkle. _

The day he rationalized that this was all a necessary evil - and perhaps it was for others who were willing to take that stance - was the day he had to stop.

Since no progress could be taken from doing nothing, from standing by the sidelines, he had to do something. It was the only solution that offered itself. There was always an offer of understanding. Always.

However, if a hand was raised against him too quickly and there was only the option of fighting back, there was little he could do.

It hurt. But he _wanted_ it to hurt. Every single memory he kept like an old legacy, like a piece of him that grieved for these people's deaths. If their faces engraved in his dreams and his nightmares were the ways he could regret the need for this at all, then he wanted them there.

He was holding on to his humanity because the world was working so hard to destroy it. While there were many men out there who would let go, he found it hard to. Because he was helpless to save his family then, he was helpless about the decisions on his means to fight the government, there was one thing he felt he could control: himself. So he held on to everything that he was.

Perhaps the word hero being bandied around made him take it up too and wear it like a badge of sorts. In those few moments of joking pride. Maybe when he was young and starting off, he kind of thought he really was. Truth be told, he didn't really think he could ever be a hero. The things he had to do weren't what he'd call heroic.

He had to do a lot of growing up. He was relatively young when it all started. He was only a decade into his life when his Grandpa died. It just so happened earlier that year he had gone with his Grandpa, his cousin Gwen and his twin in the best summer vacation of his life. They travelled around the country and had never encountered anything like what he knew now. Then it all fell into pieces when he received the news.

The next year, some horrible 'accident' happened at their home and at Uncle Frank and Aunt Lily's. They were found by some strangers that had identified themselves as 'friends' of his grandfather. Uncle Joel and Aunt Camille eventually adopted them. He had to grow up some more and accept the tragic developments in his life. He always had his cousins to relate to the pain.

Though his own brother seemed to never need to get over the absence of their loved ones. There was no misery to get over, after all. He once thought it was because his brother was smarter, more adult, which was why it was easy. But he begrudged it anyway. He later found out that he had every right to feel horrified about this lack of reaction. He realized it was not a sign of being grown up, but something far more sinister. Something to be concerned about.

Then he participated actively in freeing his country from the tyranny of the regime. He found out that there was so much more opportunity to grow up. To realize that every single piece of himself was still naïve until he saw this. It took so much not to go insane. Took so much not to feel monstrous. Took so much not to _become one. _

Then he married.

She flicked her finger gently on his forehead.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm taking care of you more than Kenny or Gwenny," she told him sweetly, giggling at his chipmunk-like puffed cheeks and pouting lips.

"That's not fair!" he complained childishly, stealing another cherry tomato from her salad to pop it into his mouth. Her eyes widened at him pointedly and slapped his hand as he tried to take another one. "Ow!" he whined exaggeratedly. "Okay, maybe Gwenny. But more than Kenny?"

"More than Kenny," she repeated, pulling the bowl away from him as he made a move for the slices of cheese. "You play more video games than him."

"He's four," he reasoned petulantly, raising an eyebrow. "But don't worry. I shall train him to become a Sumo Slammer warrior more competent than even Ishiyama." He saluted in the general direction of the air, at which point she had to burst into louder laughter.

"Grow up, Ben," his wife berated jokingly, using her shoulder to get rid of the bangs falling into her eyes.

For a few moments, he just watched the bright, warm light fall from the glass walls that gave an overview of the backyard in the kitchen. Then he walked over to her, his facial expression filled with honesty as he brushed her hair from her face for her.

"I try," he said simply.

She looked up at him, dark eyes that were so easy to drown in. Then she kissed him. He blinked several times that he thought his eyelids were going to fall off.

The back of his neck itched and that was primarily because he was thinking of a small spot on the corner of the room, beside the pantries, with a small shine that occasionally winked it into his line of sight. And all he wanted to do was destroy that annoying, invasive object.

"I take it back," she amended, all smooth pleasant tones in her voice that always made him feel comfortable. "Your face is creepy when you're serious." He didn't know if she was joking.

Then one of the children started crying. It was probably Gwenny. Kenny had the habit of annoying his little sister for his personal amusement.

"I better get that," she said finally, placing a plastic wrap over the salad. She looked up at him. "Can I trust you not to steal food while I'm up?"

"You can count on it," he promised.

A delicate eyebrow raised. "Your left eye twitches when you lie, you know."

"Maybe if you didn't let the nanny leave early for the day you'll have someone trustworthy to shoo me off," he suggested smartly.

She just stared at him as if he said something ridiculous. Wagging her index finger one last time, she made her way to where the children were playing.

After she left, he looked around carefully to make sure she was really properly out of the line of sight. Then he picked a bowl of nachos and started eating. He thought that it could use a banana smoothie to wash it down.

She appeared momentarily past the open door, so he had to scramble and hide what he was already eating too early. Julie was carrying Gwenny while Kenny was following behind her. He hoped all that immaturity; fighting, playing, pettiness lasted much longer than his did. He wasn't going to let his children suffer through anything similar to his experience.

When he bit through the food, the crunch in the overwhelming silence sounded more like twigs, sounded more like gunfire, sounded more like explosions. He put the bowl down.

* * *

Impaired

Coldness was one half; hard and smooth like the surface of a diamond. The other was - deep inside which he refused to openly acknowledge lest someone did something to mock him for it, or worse, hurt him for it - was her. A part which was more difficult yet somehow more rewarding.

The dreadlocks that fell around her face seemed less tired and oily and disgusting since their first meeting. Nor did she look as emaciated as she used to do. Once or twice in his frank, somewhat socially impaired nature, he would point out such things and she would easily be angered by it.

"_You've gotten fat," he said simply, meaning inside his head that she's gained the healthy weight appropriate for her stunning height. Her face was less caved-in; the cheekbones more beautiful rather than painfully sharp. _

"_What!" she snapped, bristling visibly and clenching her fist so soundly around the wrench he heard the metal whine. _

He always meant well but years of hunting down others and interacting with only seedy individuals had sapped him of social conventions. Even the compassionate rebellion members were usually too professional, so they could be more efficient and save more people.

The rebel leader was perhaps most compassionate of all of them, in a somewhat desperate, feeble way that a man trying to preserve his humanity was. But even he was forced to act more like an effective leader over trying to socialize.

Things were spoken in missions, finances, plans and instructions. It's been so long since he had a proper conversation, just trying to gauge someone's interest rather than trying to negotiate something or shouting threats.

He kept to himself about it, out of practicality and slight embarrassment. For this secrecy, he has never known how to properly approach the subject without sounding inept. So he interacted with her, despite his inability to put his thoughts in proper words. The right ones that didn't annoy or anger her, which was rather easy to do to begin with and therefore making relations that much harder.

He was honestly never that stupid in his life. In fact, it was his practicality and cold intelligence that decimated his race. Every single time he reminded himself of it, the drive to push the rebellion objective became stronger.

It was that single-minded aim that destroyed any of his capacity to act in ways outside of it. He never thought he'd had to.

A part him absolutely begrudged Incarcecon for the change. Somehow if he had never participated in that fiasco, he wouldn't have had to put up with and frustrate himself with Myaxx. There were other missions but he had decided to accompany Ben, who he designated himself protector of to assure that the objectives of the rebellion was pushed through.

He knew that others had deviated from the ideals of Max Tennyson as the rebellion member numbers increased and its founder died. So he made sure he allied himself with the one whose principles he adhered to as well. It was the way he knew he could protect his own personal mission.

At that time, he didn't even consider undertaking anything else an option. He went.

She was the most difficult, snide, cowardly, self-centered creature on the face of this planet. She had caused the mission to screech to a halt, possibly causing it to fail and sacrifice people for no reason all in the hopes of making sure she wasn't alive just for the few seconds that Incarcecon was put in chaos. The point of them emphasizing that Dr. Azmuth's weapon could decimate a number of cities was just sweating a minor detail. While it may have worked out in the end, it was still a headache during that very moment.

Even as she was inducted in Los Soledad, she was still being relatively all about herself. He liked to think that they were different and that he shouldn't be able to stand her. But he remembered being like her at one time in his life.

And there was so much more of her to feel impressed about. Her strength, her intelligence and her disinterest in fighting even if she could if she just wanted to. The fact that even in her frustration with the things he found himself blurting out, she hasn't stopped talking to him altogether.

"_Myaxx?" he called out, pivoting back._

"_What now?" she groaned. "I washed my hair. If you tell me it looks disgusting, I will throw the nearest available object." She looked down. "This is a really expensive neutron detector but I really don't care if I have to use it."_

"_No, it's not that. I didn't even notice it," he responded simply, again meaning well. But of course, such a thing could be interpreted badly and Myaxx's hands hovered over the machine. "I just wanted to say that I'm about to go on a mission that may kill me."_

"_Isn't that always?" she retorted flatly. _

_He stared at her pointedly._

_She got the message. "Go on," she said, shrugging. _

"_I just wanted to tell you that," he tried to find the right words. None came except for the ones that left his mouth, "I don't hate you." _

_There was silence. _

"_That's it? Really?" she asked in disbelief._

"_I just wanted to establish that all this fighting doesn't mean I don't consider you my friend," he continued trying to explain._

"_No, __**really**__," she said more loudly, more purposefully. Angrier. "That's it?"_

"_What did you want me to say?" he snapped back, full-force of aggravation at his inability to be coherent through the words he actually said. _

_With even more angered incredulity, she barked, "You want me to __**tell you**__ what to say?"_

_Deciding to give up on the conversation before they fought even more, he finally bid more calmly, "I'm leaving."_

_She sighed heavily as he made his way out of her working area. As he walked down the corridor where he could no longer see her, her voice still called out, "Fine! I don't hate you too!" _

_At that, he found himself cracking a smile. He wanted to snort into laughter, but kept his calm as he was finally called in by one of the younger members of the group - the rambunctious, impatient one named Manny - that was on this particular mission. The kid really needed to tone down on the over-aggressive excitement for fighting. He really needed to learn that it wasn't the point. _

_The point was - he remembered her annoyed huffing at him or the way she pored over her work - something else. _

He was socially and emotionally impaired. He didn't know how to understand people or didn't feel the need to do so because he never thought it important.

He had forgotten what this was about. In all the years he spent pursuing his objective, he'd forgotten the point was to finally live in peace instead of in the war that killed his people. He had wanted, in the end, for nobody else to suffer the grief of losing everyone.

In the time he had been able to interact with her, get to know her, understand her, get annoyed with her, care for her, he slowly remembered.

He had been splintered into pieces from the war - jagged and destroyed by the circumstances that had led him to atone. That's why he was so broken. She helped to stitch him back together.

"_I take it back, I hate you!" she snapped, slamming her hand on his chest repeatedly. The medics around her were trying to stop her from battering at his body, but she just hissed at them. "Damn you. If you die, I will hate you for the rest of my life!" _

_She was going to slam her fist on his chest again, but he lifted up his arm and stopped her strike._

"_That really hurts, Myaxx," he tried to say weakly, past the blood clogging up his throat. _

"_Damn it! I thought you were dead! Don't joke around like that, you idiot!" she snapped, although sounding somehow less angry and more grateful than anything._

"_If you keep on hitting me like that, I might actually die," he pointed out , still treating it lightly even while he was just previously clinging on to his life._

"_It better be me that kills you and not some stupid government lackey," she said, in a voice that would count as the sweetest that Myaxx could make it to be. And only because it wasn't snide._

"_I wouldn't have it any other way." By the look on her face as he said that, he realized he must have said something right. _

While he was impaired in so many ways, it was finally filling in. Maybe he was still awkward and still had issues wording himself right but it was okay. She didn't seem to mind all that much.

"_Oh, good. I thought you wouldn't be able to know how to kiss right."_

She had her own issues that he had to put up with too anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

Imperfect

**Healing comes so painfully **

**And it chills to the bone**

**Will anyone get close to me?**

**I'm damaged as I'm sure you know**

**I'm scared and I'm alone**

**I'm ashamed **

**That I need for you to know.**

There was so much of her that was imperfect. That was frightening. It was horrible to know that despite the know-it-all behavior, the consistently perfect school scores, the role as the jack of all trades - a fighter and a medic, she was still lacking.

_Gwendolyn was great. Gwen was smart and beautiful. Gwen always made people proud. Gwen could lead, Gwen could follow. Gwendolyn had an accepting, warm heart but she never rid of her intelligence in the process. _

But they were wrong. She was a perfectionist, if only to clean up the fact that she was damaged. Perhaps if she held everything together, if she covered up everything that made her inefficient, nobody else would notice. But she did. To her, all her mistakes were so painfully obvious. When it rose to the surface more so than the usual, she always panicked to fix it.

She had tried to deliver chest compressions for fifteen more minutes on an unresponsive patient and had tried desperately to keep going even if the heart rhythm wasn't restarted. People had to pull her from the body as she kept on going. It was probably just one of the multiple cases of her stubborn, irrational attempt to keep her patients. It still didn't register that some people were past saving. To her, she had to try her very best or she was useless.

It was her first that wanted to trust in Kevin. Her cousin, despite being one of the most accepting people she'd ever known, still had his doubts on the person who had endangered them repeatedly out of a petty way to get back at them for a fudged money-making scheme. Back then he was perhaps taking some of the things he was also selling, which made him less safe. But when Kevin came to them, still keeping some hidden agenda but relatively more sober than he had been, her belief rose.

She coaxed her cousin to consider it. Perhaps in his heart he also wanted to but he just needed her input to finally make it happen. So Kevin was able to become a double agent for the rebellion. A government insider most days who also helped the freedom fighters on his off days.

He worked well with them, even becoming regarded by the other rebellion members with enough respect through this time. Kevin had earned his place beside her and her cousin. Through the time, without even trying, he managed to steal her heart.

Bad boy, cocky charms with a self-assurance that he'd eventually tug her by his side. So she shot him down a peg or two.

_He was fixing the engine of his most priced possession: an improved muscle car that looked like a cross between a Dodge Challenger and a Camaro. He had dragged it down into Los Soledad territory despite Gwen's warnings that it would throw his discretion out the window. Something that huge being lugged down into the tunnels did not make for inconspicuous. She gave up trying at his insistence. _

"_You act like that car's your girlfriend," she said impatiently, crossing her arms._

"_What?" he asked mockingly. "You jealous?"_

_She snorted way too loudly, making her sound less incredulous and more like lying. "As if!" she responded in a far too shrill tone uncharacteristic of her usual cool sarcastic one. "You love it so much you might as well marry it, is what I'm saying. That's pretty unhealthy."_

"_You stick 'round me," he pointed out in even more amusement. "That sounds pretty unhealthy to me too." After properly feeling the heat of being underground in the tunnels, he released a sharp breath and took off his shirt. Rubbing his hands, he said to himself, "Now let's get cracking." He started fumbling around for his tools on the nearby bench._

_She refused to make a comment. It almost felt like her cheeks were going to burst as she kept herself from saying anything. _

_As if finally noticing the silence, he turned around towards her with a wide, mischievous smile on his face. "Like what you see?" he teased, wagging his eyebrows suggestively._

_Completely losing interest after that one remark, she stared at him flatly. "You wish," she retorted, throwing a nearby towel she plucked randomly from a desk right at his smug smirk. _

Then Michael Morningstar attempted to infiltrate into rebellion ranks, all for the purpose of gathering intelligence. Of course, she was just a girl. She felt so dumb after being duped into believing he was a good man simply trying to pursue the greater good. All his finances he would dedicate in their noble aspirations, even at the risk of being caught by the System for fraternizing with terrorists. She bit into it; hook, line and sinker.

The added expressions of Kevin's face as he twisted his guts in jealousy was also part of why. It wasn't easy to believe Kevin when he doubted Mike because he was spiteful. Emotions always clouded one's judgment. And she was too stupid to realize that it didn't just apply to certain people. To her, too.

When it was finally revealed who Mike was, before he was taken into the other sections of their headquarters that were more private - the number of rebels and innocents that it housed would have been a gold mine - she felt dumb. She hadn't felt quite as dumb as that time.

They took care of it by imprisoning Michael, if only to stifle any more information from being sent and because killing was always a last resort.

That probably wasn't the worst move she's pulled. There were others. All for love.

Some people said that love made one crazy or stupid. But she believed that it was just natural for her to have a couple of issues in decision-making. She masked it as well as she could, putting on a strong, assured face as if she knew what she was doing. Even knowing the repercussions, her heart was still so easily pulled into things.

"_Marriage?" he repeated incredulously, the rhythmic clicking of his fingers on the computer stopping. Dark eyes, less sunken and dark circles gone except in the depths of her memory, stared at her. He blinked. "You're serious." He gawked at her. _

"_Never been more serious in my life," she said determinedly. _

"_Shouldn't you wait for me to ask?" he added lightly, making a jest out of it. She slapped his arm and frowned at him. "Ow! You're so aggressive." She raised an eyebrow. He winked up at her. "And that's what I like about you."_

"_Every time we leave this place, every mission, every moment is a risk we won't see each other again," she explained grimly, her eyelids fluttering as if she was trying to keep herself from crying. But no tears actually appeared. Just steadfast determination. "I just want to take this moment and never regret anything. I don't want to feel like I missed out on things."_

"_That serious face is going to give ya early wrinkles. I'm not marrying an old lady," he mocked again, unable to keep from chuckling before he was shut up by her hitting his shoulder again. "Eighteen's a bit early to settle down, ain't it?"_

"_When was the first time you held a gun again?" she asked simply. _

"_Eleven," he answered somewhat begrudgingly. "Still, kinda different to being married and having babies. Though you can just ask with the making babies part and I'm easy to convi-"_

"_Kevin," she cut him off, glaring at his continued insistence to make it a joke. _

"_We'll get in trouble, ya know," he reminded her. _

"_When did that ever bother you, Mr. roguish charm?" she remarked, pulling a smirk that did his own one better. _

_He started laughing rambunctiously. "You got me at the making babies part."_

"_I didn't say that."_

"_It's in the little print in marriage deals." _

_It might not have been official so as to keep their relationship from government knowledge, but it was pretty much sealed for the both of them. It was in their hearts and it was well-acknowledged. Her cousin only wanted her happiness and supported them. He continued expressing his concerns, but kept well away from their decisions. It was theirs and their alone. For the most part, they were happy._

Things only really escalated when they began making even more impractical decisions. Her life in the upper ground and her life in Los Soledad were very different. She was a normal member of the populace, working as a librarian and occasionally interacting with her 'brother' on special occasions. But in Los Soledad, she was one of the most important leaders that were sent out on missions and always played a part as a medic. She also spoke with Ben more than the government ever knew.

It took a lot of discretion and molding information and records to keep her activity hidden. It was risky but she knew the consequences. She always knew. It never stopped her.

This personality quirk of hers - recognizing danger but never quite shirking away from it - made her accept Kevin much easier. It made her a freedom fighter. It also made her decide something that could have been the biggest mistake of her life. But it was always going to be the most beautiful regardless of what it cost.

"_No," he cousin snapped coldly. "Are you stupid?"_

"_Don't talk to her like that," Kevin barked back, stomping in front of her in readiness to fight against his best friend to prevent Gwen from being reprimanded that way. _

_But she reached out and touched Kevin's arm to stop him from picking a fight. _

"_You should know better than this," the brunette continued, tone rising from the stress. "Do you know how hard it is hide? Do you know how hard it is to pronounce someone dead and then they live again in another name without anyone noticing? Do you know what kind of life you'll put that kid through if you go ahead with this?"_

"_Yes!" she responded, practically shouting. She knew. As hard as it was. But she wanted this. It was a mistake, but she could never find it in her heart to destroy a person. Not with a gun, nor in any other means. She clenched her fist._

"_You done it before, anyway!" the black-haired man hissed. "Why is this so different?" _

"_A child who just randomly pops up in databanks? Adults are a little easier, they can have histories that you can bullshit through with papers and documents. Too much info or with immigrants, the government only goes so far until the research stops," Ben explained, about as far as his calmness could take him. But his entire body was shaking. "This one needs to come out from a hospital. It will have a much shorter track length and the System will find out Gwen doesn't have a boyfriend. Not on their records. They'll have this kid tested and _they will find you." _He was breathing so hard and clutching his forehead as if this was by far his biggest headache._

_It was the fact that Kevin understood exactly where Ben was coming from that prevented him from trying to rationalize anymore. But he was seething. To him, it wasn't Ben's business. She knew it wasn't that simple. It was all her heart talking, not her brain. Kevin did that more easily than she did, if only because he was focused on what he wanted rather than the things that were about to happen in response to what he just did. _

_But she was steadfast. She usually was when it came things of her heart because she trusted it. She hoped it wasn't directing her down the wrong path. _

"_Nine months, Ben. Give me nine months," she pleaded, looking right at his green eyes. _

_With a final deep sigh, he pivoted from them. "Let me see what I can work out." _

It was difficult then. For the majority of her days, she had to pretend she had no one. Continued to exist like she was alone. For the few times she could return to her family in Los Soledad, she made the most out of it. It was an imperfect living condition. Just like her.

Unfortunately while Ben had been able to arrange her disappearance for an entire year, he had been incapable of manipulating circumstances to arrange the child to be born then be adopted by her. Just the child's mere existence was too risky. Medical facilities everywhere were loyalists. It might not have been the doctors or the nurses, but the monitoring system was rigid. It was partially because the population count was very well documented especially in facilities like that. It was just difficult to cheat that particular system.

So she had to resolve with her child being non-existent, just like her marriage. To that day, she still believed she was the worst mother ever for making that happen.

But sometimes when she went home to her _real_ home, and Kevin would smirk at her and her baby boy would stare at her with the bluest eyes that reminded her of her mother, she felt less imperfect.

Lucy smiled at her in that eternal smile, the scratch marks on her face seeming cosmetic even if they had been carved on her during torture. Since Lucy Mann was supposed to be dead and disinterested in returning to the surface, she stayed permanently in Los Soledad. The dark-haired child sitting across from Lucy immediately looked at what his babysitter was staring at.

A bright smile adorned the child's face, and he ran to where she was. As she picked him up, she stared at the boy's blue eyes.

"Welcome home!" Devlin greeted enthusiastically.

In his youth perhaps he still barely begrudged her of her constant absence and instead enjoyed whenever she was there. She embraced him tightly as if she would never let him go. She eventually had to leave with Ben on a mission to recover people from a training mission. Kevin had pinpointed a general location that was scarily close to the area where her cousin's family was traveling.

"Since you're hugging people," a voice commented from behind her.

She quickly turned to the source and saw a familiar smirk. Shaking her head in amusement and laughing all the while, she waved her hand for him to come over. Sometimes, Kevin and her didn't even act like they were together. At least not in public. If only to keep as professional and relatively safe from possible agents of the government lurking in Los Soledad from finding out their most priced secret. Or those who were interested in bringing down her cousin or her to take over the leadership. So barely anyone knew.

"Group hug!" her five year old piped in excitedly. The blonde babysitter giggled at her charge, sharing his happiness.

Their family situation might not have been perfect but with those few moments, it felt like it was.

In the back of her mind, she thought that her grandparents, parents and her brother would have loved Devlin.

* * *

Hate To Love pt.1

She didn't know what exactly would have happened to them if they kept on going on their own. All three of them injured and only her companion seeming to recuperate by sheer force of stubbornness.

Her body hurt so much but she ignored it. She was focused more on her child. Whenever her Kenny cried from the hurt, she occupied his attention to keep him from thinking about it. She made a quiet game of pointing out the mushrooms or birds then playing a game of "I spy" when Kenny got bored of the other game. As much as possible, she carried her baby boy so that he wouldn't have to exacerbate his injuries.

She also ignored the eye rolling her companion did when she was playing with her child.

At some point during their travel, somehow not being pinpointed by the soldiers for the majority of it, she cringed at the increased in the pain on her shoulder. There was a wet feeling, but she thought it was simply sweating. Everything hurt enough that she couldn't notice which was her injuries or just tired muscles. Thankfully her Kenny didn't wake up when she stumbled a little from the pain.

"You've reopened your wound," his deep voice suddenly broke through the silence.

Glancing at it, it finally occurred to her what exactly was going on. Smiling reassuringly, she told him calmly, "Don't worry. I'm fine. I'll live with it."

For a second or two, he allowed silence to settle. Then he sighed, as if he was giving up.

"Allow me to carry the child. Redress the wound," he ordered her stiffly.

She looked right into the deep red of his eyes. "Do you really think I'm going to fall for that?"

"What would be the use in killing the child now? I realized how unreasonable you are. Implication processed," he retorted coolly. "Now stop being obstinate and do as I say."

"Unreasonable?" she repeated coldly, icicles of anger rising at the very idea.

"Will we continue fighting enough to become unmoving targets just for you to emphasize your spite?" he asked in aggravation.

Breathing deeply to herself for a while, she stared at her son then looked back at her white-haired companion. "How do I know you won't hurt him?"

"Keep an eye out. Stay beside me. I don't care," he ranted, trying to keep his voice down even in an obviously uncontrollable urge to shout. "Point a gun at my head at any opportunity. _Whatever_. Do what you must. But first, redress the wound and give me the child. You're inept and slow-moving while this injury burdens you."

Even in her fear, she understood that she was being difficult and unreasonable. But she was paranoid that he would attack Kenny. She had every right to be since this Emilien-character has so far proven to be capable of doing so - twice. How could she trust him then? Even if it would be sensible for him to help her while she fixed herself. He hadn't been sane enough before to avoid crossing her when he had the opportunity to attack her child. Why then?

"Tell me something so I can trust you," she suggested, her voice wavering. Just something, anything to feel like he had finally stopped wanting to hurt her baby. To hurt her.

"Like what?" he asked impatiently.

"Think of something," she remarked. "Anything."

As if giving her idea some thought, he surveyed the forest, then snorted. Again, it seemed like the action implied he was giving up at something. She didn't know what it could be. Maybe he was willing to concede now.

"My real name is Sven Albus Tennyson," he pronounced through gritted teeth, as if he absolutely despised the name. "I prefer to be called Albedo." Piercing red eyes. This time, it didn't seem as if he was lying. She almost half-expected him to be like her husband, left eye twitching if he said anything untrue. "If this was in any way recorded, everything that I had planned will be for nothing. It wouldn't matter. My name will kill me. So now, give me the child."

_Tennyson._ Not her husband's last name. She wondered to herself if her instincts were wrong.

She handed her child to his arms carefully, cooing when Kenny seemed to stir. "Don't wake him up," she murmured. It was odd staring at him that close. The similarities just became more pronounced.

He just snorted in response. Albedo was carrying Kenny as if the child was the oddest parcel he'd ever carried. She had to correct him a few times lest he accidentally broke her son's spine in places.

"You've never carried kids before?" she asked lightly, smiling at his discomfort.

"Do I look as if I would willingly do so?" he remarked flatly, glaring at her.

She had to giggle. She must have gone absolutely mad since she was making light banter with a man who had tried to kill her son. Sitting down on a tree root, she proceeded to tear another piece from her dress and start wrapping it around her shoulder. Just more tightly than the last one so that it wouldn't bleed again.

He watched her and continued carrying her sleeping son carefully. It was a surreal sight.

* * *

Things changed when they encountered a group. It wasn't long then until they stumbled across them. They were running and trying to avoid bullets that whizzed past. Her companion insisted they didn't associate themselves with other people to keep from attracting too much attention. Large numbers were an issue in hiding.

But she insisted. She didn't know what it was, a glimpse of someone important or just pure natural instinct that led her to keep from leaving when the group arrived. She wasn't holding Kenny. The one who was, swore loudly when she refused to follow his direction.

It was then that she noticed. A familiar head of black hair being carried by a strong, muscular lady. Bright green eyes opened after the shoot outs lessened. It was her baby girl. Her heart burst with happiness. She felt the tears at the corner of her eyes. She ran.

_Her family was whole again. _

When she took her child from the surprised woman's arms, Gwenny was so excited to see her again.

It didn't take long for their little reunion to be abruptly rained down by attacks. Her companion appeared to not be the only one who armed himself. The members of the group that had taken Gwenny with them seemed to have guns. Or at least a few of them were. The others stuck to blunt weapons and falling behind the ones who can use guns.

Albedo carried Kenny rather crudely with one arm, practically dangling the child, while he used his other arm to shoot. She wanted to berate him for doing that because he might break her child's arms or hurt his torso even more. But she focused on getting Gwenny out of the line of fire.

Though Albedo was surprisingly twisting his body in a way that kept Kenny from being accidentally hit by any gunshots targeted at the group even if it made his aiming difficult. It was enough comfort for her for the moment.

After the group had outrun the soldiers remaining and had hidden off into a ditch, they were finally given the time for calm.

A tall authoritative looking man had walked over to where she and her companion sat, huddled together with her children. He looked down at them, though he hadn't actually sunk down to meet them in the eye. Standing straight, he introduced himself coolly, "My name is Officer Pyke."

It was almost automatic when Albedo shot his right arm out to point his gun at the man.

The man was quick to redirect the barrel with his hand, but she was probably quicker on holding her companion's shoulder. She didn't know which one of them managed to stop Albedo from pressing the trigger.

"I'm used to telling people that. I'm retired but I've been in service for most of my life so it's difficult to get over," he explained, with that airy tone that almost matched Albedo's own arrogance. But not really. He still fell short somehow. "Just Walter Pyke now."

"I'm sorry for that," she apologized profusely, trying to push Albedo's gun away from the man's direction. "He's just antsy."

"Understandable," he said. "If you're going to follow us, don't fall behind."

The snort from beside her was so harsh she thought that her acquaintance damaged his tonsils in making the sound. "It would be preferable for me to die right now in my own time than to follow someone else into death."

A man with glasses and a dirtied suit commented irritably about 'what the damn country had gone to that one only had a choice between a threat or a menace to lead'. But Albedo and Pyke were too absorbed in their own quarrel to take notice.

The black eyed glare was just as harsh as the red eyed one that met it. Two men who were too strong to handle anyone else's leadership.

She felt cold sweat dripping down her forehead.

* * *

So far, none of them had tried to kill the other person. Yet. Albedo seemed to constantly be on the edge of doing so but restrained himself with enough convincing from her. Pyke just looked like he considered the younger man as one of the rowdy teenagers he used to put in jail regularly. This was another notch in the offences Pyke had against her companion.

While Albedo avoided the rest of the group and was unpleasant with everyone, there was a little more annoyance at the older man who was treading on his accustomed leadership. It was as if this particular issue was touchier than other things, like being alive and lugging behind him.

She never really thought too much behind his infinite patience with her. While he was always sarcastic and cold towards her, there was much less lashing out. Her existence didn't seem to be an offence on him as much as the others' existences.

She wished didn't have to think about it more.

The group was huddled together, hiding away from detection from the soldiers using them as target practice. The white-haired man she was with continued scouting, on alert for suspicious movement so that the group could run on signal. For the moment, there was an agreement to look out for the entire group's best. The rest of the detail on who was to be followed would be negotiated later, which was really more of a 'wait to see who's right' pissing contest.

She was holding her children close to her, trying to keep them quiet by making it a game. Both her kids were competitive.

"Is that your boyfriend?" the woman who had been carrying Gwenny asked in curiosity.

"Huh?" she asked, stopping from running her hands in her daughter's hair.

The woman nudged her head a Albedo, who was focused on the bushes instead.

Her eyes widened. "Good gracious, no," she responded quickly, glancing at him only to accidentally meet his gaze. She suddenly felt awkward about the horror in her tone. This was quickly followed by bristling righteous anger and holding her son's hand more tightly.

He wasn't crying about the pain anymore but it was pure pot luck that the way he had been carried earlier didn't exert too much on the wound.

"Could've fooled me," the woman said teasingly.

"Do I act it?" she asked carefully, honestly confused.

The woman looked at her thoughtfully. "Nah," she responded, waving a hand. "Not so much you. Him. He's got that overprotective, possessive thing going on." She waved amicably at Kenny, who stared back in the bug-eyed curious way that kids had when adults said weird things. "And he looks like your boy too-"

"No. He doesn't," she snapped sharply, holding both of her children tighter. Gwenny just took this as a cue to hug back, but Kenny looked like he was about to complain.

"Okay, okay," the woman conceded, raising both her hands to placate Julie. The rest of her words were mumbled out, "No need to get snippy about it."

Silence.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, sounding incredibly exhausted. "A lot has happened."

"That's the general story for everyone," the woman said, nodding in understanding

"My husband's not here. Paper filing…" Her eyebrows furrowed. Her husband, away on business that might not be official. It hit her only then. The day that her companion told her that her husband was the leader of a secret organized faction dedicated to overthrowing the government, she hardly registered the words. It felt like a dream, like it was unreal.

It probably looked like resilience at the time when she was told her husband had been lying to her and her sole reaction was to move on and ask what to do next. It was also strange that she managed to not be angered by the lie to completely adhere to her companion's direction. She refused to negotiate her continued existence with the government by playing by the game's twisted rules. It was with a cool, collected mind that decided to stand her ground yet match the irrationality of his belief of her compliance with her insistence to find her thought-to-be-dead children.

It took forever and a day to really understand the meaning of her mad protector's words.

She and her husband told each other everything. Despite her husband's childishness, he was always mature and upfront about things that mattered. It was just difficult to understand why he would keep it from her.

"Hey, you okay?" the woman asked worriedly, waving a hand in front of her to check she was still there.

"Yeah," she answered simply. Then she looked farther ahead from the group where Albedo continued to stalk through the area to inspect for movements. It was frightening to consider that whatever this woman told her might answer her nagging question about why exactly he kept her alive; why he didn't just abandon her when she proved too difficult to deal with.

She redirected her attention. Her mind was reeling from everything that she just found out. But she kept it from appearing on her face. Instead she looked back at the dark haired woman. She noted absently that the constant exposure in the sun must have made the woman's skin slightly red.

"By the way, I forgot your name," Julie started sheepishly.

"Tini," the woman responded, smiling amicably. "Everyone just calls me Tini. Because that's not what I look like."

She shared laughter with this new friend of hers and talked about other things that weren't the revelations that had coagulated in her brain.

* * *

They've encountered multiple soldiers. It was as if the group members were the last few left, which was why they were somehow hoarded by greater numbers. Due to the gunfight and the chaos keeping the two arrogant men trying to lead the group rather busy, they weren't arguing.

Things had gone relatively quiet and everyone was jumpier for the uneasy silence. The smart guy who followed Tini around kept even closer to her by that point. For all of Tini's ability to notice that Julie's companion held her in better regard, Tini didn't seem to notice the guy's obvious interest in her.

They just walked, trying not to crunch on the leaves and break the overwhelming silence. It was so quiet it was practically deafening. The only children in the group, her children, made barely audible whimpers. It was her comforting hold that kept them from being louder. The fact that she could touch them comforted her.

Then something exploded. It was so loud her ears were ringing for a while after the sound erupted. Everybody had ducked for cover, except her white-haired companion. He remained standing upright. Only the red hood that looked more like a cowl moved and only because of the wind that rushed from the site of the explosion - as if whatever had happened was barely deterring him.

He simply lifted his left arm and stared at his wrist, where a watch was. Then a smirk laced on his lips, one that made the skin on the back of her neck crawl.

"Just in time," he commented lightly, like it was just an observation.

The rather loud member of the group, someone whose name she heard was Harangue, asked angrily, "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Albedo ignored him.

Staggering to a stand, she tried to heft her children upwards. Squeezing her finger on her ear to stop the ringing, she tried to confirm, "Your plan working?" She remembered the suitcase and bet her life that was probably the cause of the explosion.

Her companion turned to her, a smug expression on his face as if he was particularly boastful of this particular invention. "Like a charm."

* * *

A/N: I resolved to finish what I started. This might not reflect on anything else. I've been losing my love for the Ben 10 fandom, though my love and respect for the series itself increases.

I still have issues with wording in this fic that I feel need correcting._** Critique this fic as much as you wish. I'll fix accordingly**. _I thank you in advance for any input you may give me. As much as this looks like treating people like they're dumb, I thought I should mention this anyway (just to clear up any doubts or confusion):

Uneasy Lies the Head: Vilgax's POV.

Growing Up: Ben POV.

Impaired: Tetrax POV.

Imperfect: Gwen POV.

Hate To Love: Julie POV.


	7. Chapter 7

Golden

He always watched her actions with a certain level of analysis. Maybe it was the fact that he was so naturally manipulative, considering any young woman - even one who had garnered his respect as much as she has - as some form of prey. Attempted to understand, tried to nitpick a person's weakness all for the purpose of using it to his advantage.

She expressed distance from her uncle, despite a hidden level of respect and a little more of fear. But she was always brave-faced - frightening and more openly monstrous than anything he'd ever seen. Creating walls of strength until nobody could see past them, barricaded so well that everything about her just appeared flawlessly hard-edged. Kind of like the glass-like translucence of her hair.

Such an accurate simile, considering her actually inherent delicacy and that she always just waiting to shatter. It was important to know her vulnerabilities as she did with his, so that they stood on level ground instead of one outdoing the other. If he could circle around her like a vulture so could she. He knew about her brokenness from the rest of her family's death; she knew the fact that he had never been whole to begin with, having no family even while they were there at all.

The fact that they used each other's personal weaknesses as defences and weapons spoke about who they were as people. It spoke well of how better suited their partnership was than the one she had with her uncle, as he was disproportionately at a greater advantage than she was. With her uncle, there was fear. With him, there was respect.

He valued her, in a way. Perhaps deep inside where it shouldn't matter anymore, deep in a heart too corroded with cynicism and self-absorption, he valued her. Outwardly, they were fantastic partners-in-crime. She and her uncle did most of the dirty work, he did diplomacy and politics and office work she would have found utterly mind-numbing. Yet it was his arena, where he was as ruthless and manipulative as she was out there in her terrorist acts.

The governance of the different regions of the country was more like an extensive advisory table that the dictator had, rather than actually possessing the ultimate power of the positions within the central. So he had made it an objective to work his way that high up. It would eventually pull him into the close-knit circle of loyal people that the government had. It was necessary to keep increasing his potential to be taken under that classification because then, and only then, did he truly believe he could achieve the takeover.

This was the primary plan. With his fantastic record of only interacting - however cruelly - with only the not so questionable lot of the country, he couldn't actually be seen talking and genially with terrorists against the government. There were limits and only certain reaches. He needed to, as one would say, expand his networking to be more efficient.

So he did. Just one important person was all that was necessary, then he would have all the information that rose from ground level to the higher ups. He needed Charmcaster, so he knew everything there was to be known that was collected by her cultist, extremist group.

It was an invaluable connection.

Sometimes, they were useful for other things too.

"Congressman Morningstar?" the secretary asked in that quivering, uncertain, gauging tone just waiting to be a snivelling, ass-kisser. "I've got a phone call, says it's for you. Doesn't say who he is but says it's important stuff about a suspected rebellion member."

He raised a delicate eyebrow. "There's a local police force that he can call for that sort of information. Unless it has anything to do with passing legislations, that is not within my alley," he remarked in a smooth, subtly mocking tone.

"Sir, apparently it's something you wanna know personally," the secretary continued, but acknowledged the ludicrousness of it with a chuckle. "Something to do with someone working for the government and someone you know, apparently good for your interests in Cabinet. 'Rebel leader' important. It sounds crazy!" The secretary started to make his way back to his desk to hang up on the caller.

After only a few seconds of thought, he decided to stop the secretary though. Might as well entertain the caller, on the rare and unlikely possibility that it might actually be important. "Wait," he called out thoughtfully, to which the secretary turned to the sound. "Put it through my line."

"Are you sure? It looks like just a ridiculous-" The eyebrow was raised again. Always ready to please the secretary just recanted and responded politely with a, "Yes, sir."

Picking up the phone, he put on his most brilliant smile even without the audience face to face. After all, he was ridiculously used to the masquerade. It was quite difficult to simply just play normal instead of be angelic all the time. "Mike Morningstar speaking. To whom am I having the pleasure of this conversation with?"

"Argit," was the simple, abrupt answer.

"Do you have a full name, by any chance?"

"Ya don't need ta know," the caller said equally abruptly, as if that particular query annoyed him. "All ya gotta know is I know something real important you're interested in."

The reserves of curiosity was starting to run low. He was getting the feeling that the person he was speaking with was probably just another homeless street parasite hoping to make a few bucks on so-called information that was actually nothing. "Such as?"

"I know Kevin Levin."

For the duration of the conversation this was the only thing that managed to pique his interest. Now it seemed like they were getting somewhere. Nonetheless: "How do you know I would ever be interested in that name?" he asked in suspicion.

"Heard it through the grapevine," was the ambiguous answer. "And I'm partsa government too. We're almost like neighbors, right?"

There was a vague sound that he produced in his throat in response to express the sentiment of a democratic 'yes' but with a distasteful 'not really' just lagging behind.

"So you interested or not? 'Cause I ain't talkin' 'bout this on the phone," the caller demanded impatiently, as if his time was being wasted instead of the Congressman's.

"Of course," he had replied graciously. "Do you have an address where this meeting can be conducted discreetly? I hope you don't mind the presence of a couple of subordinates. For everyone's safety." He pulled out a small piece of paper from the perfectly arranged pile on his table and a pen from the holder.

After clarifying some of the confusion derived from his eloquence and his caller's lack thereof, the conversation finally ended. Drumming his fingers on the table, he stared at the piece of paper in his hand and the thick documentation of a copy of a bill that was going to be deliberated on in the House of Representatives that same night.

The secretary poked his head in through the door. "Congressman, you have that schedule in ten minutes. Do you need help with that other meeting of yours?"

Again flashing beaming pearly whites, he answered politely, "No, thank you. I have this covered."

After the secretary nodded and closed the door, he made a discreet glance at the location of the camera, stood up and began to meander aimlessly around the room as he dialled a number into his cellphone. The call was picked up almost immediately and now his smile was actually genuine.

"Ms. Charmcaster, it's always such a pleasure to hear your delightful voice."

"I'm not in the mood for playing your little word games, Michael," the hard-edged, husky, feminine voice responded. Ah, she was being put to place by her uncle again because of another adventure to go solo. Considering by the reaction, it didn't go quite so well. But he like her in these moods, so dangerously beautiful and very useful. "What do you want?"

"I have a small request, a favor if you will, to ask of you," he continued with the same silky smooth voice. "A little meeting to be conducted with a rather important informant."

"Why don't you do it yourself?" she asks sardonically, as if it was an obvious course of action that shouldn't even have to be repeated by saying it out loud.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment, some office work that demands too much of my time to do something else. Taxation bills, as usual," he explained. "Not to mention the somewhat stubborn caller is requesting for a rather obscene amount of money for the information and negotiation of this caliber isn't up my alley."

"Why should I care?" He could imagine her looking at her fingernails in dismissal and it brought another smile to his face.

"Because this is _personally _important information, my dear." He raised the piece of paper to eye level and a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "All of us will be getting a satisfying result at the end of this."

There was a thoughtful pause. "Except maybe the informant," she responded edgily, already undertaking an amused tone suggesting what she was planning to do.

"Ah, it looks like we have come to an agreement," he stated in satisfaction. "Always such a pleasure to speak with you, lovely Charmcaster."

"Not very gentlemanly of you to just contact me about work," she added before he had a chance to finish their conversation. "You're losing your touch, Michael. It's all that dumb paperwork."

"I suppose I am," he responded thoughtfully in an amused tone. Tracing his finger down the paperwork, he decided to add, "I should apologize with an offer for dinner."

He could hear the smirk if he didn't see it. "You should."

* * *

Rat

He was a street rat. Skeevy, sneaky, untrustworthy and unsurprisingly, would rat out anybody for the right amount o' dough.

Kevin was his old team, the buddy in crime. Emphasis on was, though. They used to be connected by a strong sense of loyalty exclusively to their selves. Push came to shove, one could rely on the other to make a break for it so the dumber one got left with the stash.

While certain awesome things got legalized- sorta shortening them kind's employment rate actually - there was still very rigid laws on other cool stuff. Simply because that shit was for high and mighty government cronies only to distribute and use. Some crappy drugs made in someone's toilet got the A-OK on the distribution rights thingymajig, while the really hardcore trippy stuff was only for the big guns. Which was unfair so they played Robin Hood of the blackmarket, kinda. With a lot more stealing without giving to the poor and keeping it for themselves. Then firearms distribution was just for the government dudes, which was just way unfair. There was something some old timer said about being free to have guns on your person 'round here back in the good old days, which might've been tripping or for real. But ya gotta fight for freedoms like that, he thought.

They still carried guns, but gotta make sure ya dun go around getting caught 'cause that causes bad shit to happen.

He was a wonderful ass-kisser, which meant being buddies with the System was easy enough if it gave him his just desserts. Take the cake and eat it too sorta thing. So he made friends fast. Kevin, on the other hand, took a while. Too cocky for the ass-kissing until stumbling into some really awesome cash-making opportunities that he wouldn't even be able to dream of. One only did small time outside government supervision. Then he made it work for a really short while. So short he coulda made it into that World Record thing.

Some kid he got into a scuffle with, probably one of those rebel guys - Kevin wasn't talky and only all action about it - cemented his government loyalty for those moments. But it was all that closeness to the System that made him sniff too far into deep shit he didn't need to know about.

Then Kevin got less close, got sneakier and more inquisitive. This crap pissed him off because Kevin even thought to go all unreliable on his good friend, Argit. They was the only guys who knew living on the streets, being bullied around and having some street smarts 'round 'ere, but Kevin blew it.

Now he was loyal to someone other than himself. For a time he didn't even know who it was, and that shit on the face of good business. Because Kevin wasn't about the business much no more. Din't get nothing outta the guy anymore. Nothing useful anyway.

But at some point he got smarter than Kevin. Prolly 'cause the new friends were making the guy dopey too.

A friend of a friend of his in the black market found some guy named Darkstar. He wasn't gonna make fun of the guy's fake name to his face but it was definitely a shit name. Not as shit as his first name, mind, 's why he used his last name. But shit anyway. Dug up the information by means of some buddies on the government and got a good idea he was called Michael Morningstar in the government. He was some guy who wanted some juicy info on his useless old buddy. That meant he knew there was info that he had his hands on that this guy wanted, and now he also had a contact number.

So now they had a meeting.

Terrorist lady Charmcaster acted as the negotiator for the night. He didn't know that was going to be the case and bad luck on him for it. He was carried around by her cultist guards by the ankles and was told to spill or have his still beating heart be offered to some phony imaginary dude in the sky.

He was planning to get stingy and ask for a better price 'cause really, where else would they get better info than from good old Argit? But these bastards played dirty.

His spiky, unkempt hair looked spikier as he was hung upside down. He felt like too much blood was going to his brain and he was starting to feel very lightheaded.

"Can't even think!" he complained, trying to flail to get himself away from the larger, burlier cultists that were with Charmcaster. Instead he just stayed stuck up there lookin stupid and slowly feelin faint.

"Well, you have to try a little bit harder or else we'd be wasting our time here," she remarked in a catty irritating way that still made him pissed even while he was trying to stay alive. "And that would kill you."

"How'd I know ya won't kill me anyway?" he snapped back, still flailing. Which was starting to look bit like a bad idea 'cause he wasn't feeling too swell at the moment.

"You're just going to have to trust us," she stated with a nasty smirk. "So you know Kevin Levin. Personally, I hope?"

Stubbornly, especially now that he knew he wasn't gonna get the bucks he expected from the damn deal in the first place, he retorted, "Who wants ta know?"

The bitch with the platinum hair just nudged her head to the side at her Frankenstein-ugly lookin guard and he was shook until the world was spinning and words were just blurgh. More'n usual. First thought that came to him was he wanted to puke. Hopefully on her.

"Next time, you get to see your guts on the pavement. Don't worry, it'll all be for a good cause," she said smoothly, filled with sharp edges that he was sure was from her pointy, devilish teeth. The tiara stuff was her horns, obviously. 'Cause she was demon spawn, that one. She started playing with some necklace thing with a weird symbol. Probably just cultist crap. "Otherwise you're just going to be another useless scum on the street who isn't even good for getting information from."

"Thought youse was gonna give me money then I talk!" he shouted determinedly, even after all the wanting to puke and faint shit 'cause maybe this time they'd believe it when- The other guy pointed a knife at him. "Okay! Geez! Alright! Yeah! I know lotsa stuff about Kevin, we're friends ya know. Can't we all just be friends?"

"Mhm," the girl just looked bored and impatient. "Go on."

"He's got some transporting duties fer the government. All classified weapons dealing and stuff for military!"

"Tell me something I don't know or we slash your chest open," she said gleefully, a bit more excited with him not knowing shit so she could just kill him. Crazy bitch.

"He's with some chick in the rebellion! Important girl, like a rebel leader or maybe close to that. Something like that!"

"One last warning," she sing-sang.

The knife edged much to close for his comfort and he just flailed more and went crazy trying to pull away. "He got a kid!"

She raised a hand to stop her cultist follower from actually making him into lamb chop. "What?"

"You heard me! A kid! With that girl! And you even know why he's rebel inna first place? The government killed his dad and he's pissed off to high heaven! Lemme down, please!" he blubbered now, 'cause he gotta say he didn't wanna have his heart carved out. Last way he wanted to die. He wanted to die old, fat and rich like all of 'em senators.

"How do I know all of this is real?" she asked finally, crossing her arms like she didn't believe him but she stopped so it was all good. With just that head movement thingy again he was even placed down so he stopped feeling dizzy. He felt like things were finally in place, like his guts wasn't trying to get outta his mouth no more. Glaring at her big bullying guards, practically rock-like in solidness and expression, he mumbled to himself. Where's his money'n all this?

"'Cause you check records, you'll see his dad's one of 'em processed people on the files. And his girlfriend just went poof from cameras like nine months, you'll see. He tells me stuff 'cause I'm his best buddy Argit. 'S why it's all real!"

Then she started to chuckle, then laugh out louder. "Well, this is going to be very interesting. Looks like keeping quiet for a later time's not that important anymore. There's enough information here for someone's promotion." What a crazy bitch she was.

"So do I get my money?" he asked carefully.

She nodded at the dumb, zombie of a cultist follower she had and stuff happened that made everything go dark. When he woke up, he was sleeping beside some gutter the side of a street and he had a big fat black eye. Some military dude was waking him up for being outside on curfew and told that this was just warning this time before he went to jail.

Damn that crazy bitch.

* * *

Hush

**Backbeat the word is on the street**

**That the fire in your heart is out…**

When he slowly walked into the house, it was dark and silent. Usually he wasn't even there at that time, he would always come in early in the mornings after his work was finally finished.

Then he received a call, garbled and filled with panic. At first he hadn't been able to pick up and there were some thirty calls probably equally as frantic as when he actually finally picked it up. When he did, he was told to go home at that very moment. He was still about to go into a meeting with the boardroom to arrange a possible retrieval mission for a previous senate member that was eventually incarcerated in one of the processing camps. He needed this to be done by another group in the resistance that didn't take his lead directly. Unfortunately, the leader was vocally against him and particularly uncooperative. So he apologized and said work was very pressing at the moment. She hung up the phone.

No other call after that. He went home eventually and now he was standing inside his dark house, finger clicking the light open.

That was when he saw her tiny form shaking. Probably just having just placed the children to bed even though it was a late hour for a two year old and a baby, she finally found the space and time to sit on the couch quietly and have a mental breakdown. She barely cried. This was always surprising for most people but since he had been married to her for a while now, he took notice. Apparently one of those few times she cried was on her parents' funeral. A rare and difficult sight to see. She looked like she was crying.

Carefully, he approached her and kneeled in front of her. "Julie, are you okay?"

Hands still on her face, she muttered coolly in a broken tone, "What do you think?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here so quick, I was really busy-"

"You're always busy," she remarked, all icicles and pain. "You're always away God knows where. And for your business?" Finally placing her hands down very slowly, the dark eyes were looking right at him with contempt that wrenched at his heart. "You never have time. Never for family."

"It's not as easy it looks. Not with everything as they are, you know how it is. I really tried to be here," he explained wearily, trying to keep the rest of the words that said: _It's not business. It's stability, it's peace, it's freedom, it's country, it's her, it's the kids._ Because it wasn't for today, like the rest of the other days before it. He held her hands as she turned her head away from him.

"You didn't try hard enough," she stated flatly, the wavering in her voice somehow leaving to be replaced with something colder, with less emotion. She wouldn't look at him. "Like we don't matter."

"Please just- Just tell me what happened," he begged soothingly, refusing to let go of her hand even while she was already tugging him off.

For a while she just chose to glare at him darkly, eyes rimmed with red from old tears, refusing to speak. Deep inside it was just one other thing that hurt, like everything else he had had to do with his life. "Some agents came by saying that they had an anonymous tip about some stupid accusation of treason." She looked like she was finding it hard to breathe, shoulders shaking again from the fear of recounting the event. He placed his hands on her arms lightly to try and just rub the fear away but she shook him off. Jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut, he had to let go. "They ransacked the place looking for information. I didn't even know what. I didn't know what to say to them to make them stop."

"They couldn't get anything anyway," he said lamely, still trying to placate her.

"They nearly took the kids!" she snapped, raising her voice for the first time. Then just as immediately, she crumpled into herself and covered her face again. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do." After some time she just repeated this line into a murmur. Dark hair covered her pallid face, nearly as pale as the moon with the shock and the aftermath of fear.

Now past the pain, there was anger of the fact that they would go through his family and they would attempt to take his children in his place. He knew. The last time when there was an investigator in the bar who he had genially dissipated the suspicion, that man had threatened his family. "Look, if I'd known-"

"You didn't answer your phone. How would you know?" she snapped quietly through gritted teeth.

He had to keep this together. Despite everything. No matter how much it was bearing down on him, no matter how exhausted he felt that he just wanted her to understand. He just couldn't always be there. The fact that he was forced to keep his lips shut, for the third important time when he was needed - when his wife competed interstate and he was the only one not there, the birth of his second child, this - was killing him. Just slowly eating away at him. He couldn't tell her. She would understand. But then she'd know and be embroiled. There was less they can do with someone completely innocent. He knew for certain that they would be safer.

Those who kept the secret, it bore down and showed even if they didn't say anything. That was why the recreational drugs were legal so they didn't have to feel anxious because their minds were too fried. They were for those people who wanted to keep their mouths shut for their own good.

He reached out to her, this time refusing to let her go while she tried to weakly tried to push him off. Embracing her tightly in his arms, he tried to even out his own breathing while she was against him. He had to keep it together. Because this wasn't breaking. The one thing left of his life that felt normal. The only stable, good thing left. The home he came to so the world would be shut off for the few moments he could imagine that it wasn't there. Then all he had was home. It wasn't breaking because he was going to keep it together.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair, as she sagged exhaustedly into his chest. "I'm so sorry." He breathed. Once. Twice. "People were there too, at work." Which was true. Not the when but it did happen. "I didn't want to tell you before. I didn't want to worry you. They were asking a lot of questions and I'd just had to give them documents and evidence that I wasn't away doing anything that they were accusing. It was so stupid. I got them to leave eventually." He found himself glaring in the general direction of where a camera was located in that room. Lead settled in his chest, it felt like he was just as deceptive as the kindly, protective government it projected itself as through the media. He was just a liar like the rest of them.

"They left when they found it was a tip for a different house," she continued to explain, her throat sounded raw, her voice scratched. She paused for a moment, trying to gather more strength to speak. "This can't keep happening to us."

Squeezing his eyes shut tighter, he breathed in and out deeply. "I'm so sorry," he replied weakly.

Allowing himself to let her go when he felt the pressure from her hands try to push him off gently. "I can't be alone in this, Ben," she stated; pleaded. Placing both her hands together, she looked up at him with her tear-stained face, puffy eyes and dry lips, she told him quietly, "Please, you have to do better. Please."

"I'll try." And he would. He just wasn't sure it was going to work. The problem was that he was just himself and there was everyone else. If he was forced to choose, everyone else was more important. Maybe if he couldn't keep the home that he wanted then he just couldn't. That was the difficult part to swallow. But he hoped.

**And all the roads we have to walk are winding**

**And all the lights that lead us there are blinding**

**There are many things that I would like to say to you**

**But I don't know how.**

'**Cause maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me**.

* * *

Mountain of Problems

Ben had problems talking to the elderly leaders of the subsections of the revolution. They were aged in ways that made them difficult to consider compromise. They had set ideas and any new propositions he may give were always met with cynicism and automatic distaste. Which gave him great difficulty especially when he needed their or their underscores' support.

They saw things in simplistic manners that removed elements of human nature - errors, compassion, empathy, survival - as if those didn't exist in their opposition. All they saw were their own personal battles, a focus on their own tragedies, their own hardships and their beliefs without any crack of open-mindedness in their hearts. So they pursued things in ruthlessness that matched - horrifically enough - the actions of the people they were against.

It frustrated him now that he needed their help in getting some agents past the officially blocked international travel. Only the armed forces of the country had pass to leave and return to the country without questioning. He had a plan on coaxing as much help with foreign military and organizations that could tip the scales towards them by using mostly intimidation tactics over employing the brute force that could be implemented with such massive backups. He thought that this could effectively minimize collateral damage and would quickly unseat the government as painlessly as possible. He wanted all of those responsible to face jail time over actual death, which he thought was in itself a lack of justice.

He received an assortment of complaints against him ranging from being 'unpatriotic' to being 'cowardly' to being 'just plain stupid'. It felt like, being in the same room with them, he would be beaten to death by these elderly leaders for even remotely existing. They just thought of him as a hanger-on from their original, more sensible contemporary.

To them, he would always be the more disappointing version of his grandfather, because he handled things differently and in ways they automatically disagreed with. They gave him a chance at the start, thinking he would be his Grandpa Max. Then he opened his mouth.

He still had the same goals, but all this talk of mercy and justice that opposed their idea of justice drove them off the wall. To them, he made no sense. From there on in, any attempts on his part to appeal or compromise with them only exacerbated the situation. He didn't have his wife's patience. And even she had her limits. His nerves were constantly frayed around them and all he wanted was to pursue what they all wanted too. Simply because he had other ideas, it meant he was wrong.

Ben himself had problems with their ruthlessness, the way they handled things that sacrificed their men more often than completely necessary. He'd just stumble into reports of things they'd done out of his jurisdiction or knowledge and a sinking feeling in his stomach would set. But all his attempts to call them out on it pretty much made him even more unlikeable in their minds.

It was just so immensely frustrating. At some point, he excused himself out of the boardroom to literally bang his head on the wall of the corridors. Since they were in a tunnel, he was sure they could hear the physical demonstration of his frustration echoing.

That was when his cousin found him, with his forehead on the wall, while the conversation inside the boardroom continued. She was holding her five year old's hand while staring at her cousin owlishly. The child was looking up at him with big blue eyes that managed to make him even more embarrassed than Gwen's expression.

He snorted at himself.

"Don't worry," Gwen told him reassuringly, slowly. "This isn't the strangest thing I've seen you do."

"Do I wanna know the strangest thing?" he asked warily, standing up a little straighter.

"No, you don't," she responded with finality so he just quietly conceded to it. She looked at the closed door where the meeting was happening. She commented, dripping with sarcasm, "Going well, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah," he said dryly. "Without a hitch. Perfectly." His tone more serious than before, he continued, "This is going to take a lot longer than I expected. And I don't think we can pull Kevin out from the System yet."

She looked incredulous. "Ben, we talked about this. The longer he stays there, the more danger he'll be in. He doesn't have enough bargaining chips left."

"Yeah, I know," he responded, as calmly as he could which corroded as soon as he continued about the issue. "But this isn't working either and all the other guys we've got aren't as close in the circle or we've pulled them out. Kevin's the only one we've got left."

"You have to keep trying harder with these people, alright?" she said sternly, decisively. "Kevin's quitting after this last mission. They're already trying to investigate him and he can't last for long." She held her son closer, hefting up the child in her hands despite the boy's protests that he wanted to walk. The way she held him looked like she was trying to protect Devlin from someone trying to attack the child. "Try harder."

Scratching his head with both hands forcefully in aggravation, he responded, "I wish I could. These guys, they're like walls!" He waved his hand at the door as if to demonstrate the evidence. "All I'm doing is talking and it just bounces back to me. Everything I say's got something wrong with it and it completely becomes too wrong to even think about. They don't want to listen to me, they're already convinced I'll just fail. I can't try any harder than I already have." He sighed deeply.

"Please, Ben. Don't give up now, there's got to be a way," she insisted, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Just make them listen. Try to talk them in a way that they'd want to hear what you have to say."

"What, kiss their asses and tell them how stupid I am and how right they are?" he suggested irritably.

"If you have to," she said firmly. "Do it."

"Gwen, that's what I'm trying to avoid!" he complained, squeezing his eyes shut as if trying to convince himself that it wasn't happening. "Giving them the excuse to get away with even more of the crap they pull. Their men are my men too. I'm not letting those guys get away with just throwing them away like sacrificial lambs just to get what they want. The end justifies the means thing of theirs, it's such crap."

"Yeah, I know. It's total bullshit," a deeper male voice added in to the conversation, from behind Gwen.

Gwen immediately tried to cover her son's ears. "Kevin," she hissed. "Language."

"Eh, he's heard worse," the dark-haired taller man said dismissively, shrugging nonchalantly. He approached closer to ruffle his son's jet black hair. "Ain't it right, kiddo?"

"Yep," the boy just said innocently. The response of his mother to the comment was to elbow the boy's father hard on the ribs.

"Ow," Kevin whined as he rubbed on the part that was hit.

Ben just watched the entire scene with a wry smile on his face, thinking about the normalcy of it and the special demonstrations of affection that the family could get away with in their circumstances. Their son wasn't exactly their son when they were talking about him outside of their close circles.

"I can stay with the Pirates of the Caribbean reject if you want," Kevin declared easily, nudging his head at his not-best friend in agreement. "Those whiny old cunts-" Gwen released a sharp breath of irritation as she just fastened her hands even harder around Devlin's ears "-can just keep on doing whatever; you don't need 'em."

"No, Ben. No," his cousin persisted, glaring at Kevin to shut him up, who promptly tried to at least back down to really imply who was boss in the relationship. She returned her attention back to Ben. "You're going to need them eventually. You'll still have to talk to them." She faced the dark-haired man again, who looked like he was giving as much of a sheepish smile as he could pretend to have. "As accurate as the name-calling is, it's not nice. Don't do that. Not in front of Devlin."

"Anything for you, babe," he responded with no sign of irony, as he quickly pecked on her cheek.

"Eww," Devlin reacted, pushing his dad's face off his mom's cheek.

Redirecting his attention from the family to the boardroom door, Ben sighed deeply and placed a hand on his forehead. "I'm wishing I was talking to somebody else. Someone who listens, someone who tries understanding every once in a while. Like Julie."

The older man just snorted, then guffawed at him mockingly. "You freakin' wish, man."

"Supportive, Kevin. Try it," the red-haired woman said dryly.

"By the way, did you get any reports about how the bus went?" the brunette rebellion leader questioned seriously. "I didn't get any messages or calls from Julie. Did Albedo have anything to say?"

"Okay, you're gonna love this, kid," Kevin replied. "First code that got through from your evil twin, he sends like an A-okay. Then next code gets patched through just this afternoon and he says he lost your kids."

Ben's eye twitched. "What?"

"And get this, the location of the bus he has on the first code doesn't match up with Cooper's nav system when he pinpointed where the message was being transmitted," the dark-haired man continued.

"Yes, I even heard Cooper say the navigation system located both codes' sources in the general area of a checkpoint and hasn't been moving very far after two days," Gwen added worriedly.

"What the hell is he doing?" Ben asked the general direction of the air as he scrunched up his eyebrows at it suspiciously.

"He lost your kids," Gwen repeated lowly to herself before looking back up at her cousin. "Last time I saw Albedo, and that may be a long time ago, but he honed stubbornness to a fine art. He can't just have 'lost your kids'. Not if he doesn't want to."

A dark expression slowly but surely settled on the brunette's face, one that made even the two people in front of him who knew him better than anyone, practically step back. It was so unfittingly frightening.

"He did it on purpose," Ben muttered under his breath, so sharply it sounded more like a curse rather than an innocuous sentence. He looked up. "This meeting's postponed for later," he said in a tone so calm and cold, it bordered on mechanical. He looked at Gwen. "The group ready to mobilize? I need them ready to move out in ten minutes." He started walking decisively through the corridors, being flanked on both sides by his cousin and his best friend. "Have Cooper give the group some basic directions on the area and he'll keep us posted for any details later on. I'm going to lead."

"Wait, so do Kevin and I still have to go with this or do we form another group for the other suspected training grounds and move that out?"

"No, you're still going," he said authoritatively, back straight as he walked down the corridor in an uncannily similar stance his brother regularly adorned. "But re-assign Pierce and Alan to the other possible training ground. Call in Tetrax to have him lead that group and quickly rally a few more members for their team. I still need Manny and Helen to stay in this group."

"I'm not sure they're going to agree with not being able to work together," Gwen answered uncertainly. "They're pretty close knit."

"Well, they need to suck it up," Kevin stated coolly, to which Ben simply nudged his head in agreement.

While his red-haired cousin mentioned something about returning Devlin to Lucy before they finally head off, Ben blocked out the rest of any of the other conversations. Instead he focused entirely on the idea that his kids were apparently 'lost' by his brother and that he had absolutely no news on his wife's well-being. Pulling out his cellphone from his pocket, he stared at its suspiciously blank screen, while hoping that he had just missed a call.

As he walked down and passed by the infirmaries, he dialled the number, only to receive a recorded message saying that it was out of coverage area. After a few more attempts, he gave up and squeezed his hand around the phone until it creaked.

Blazing green eyes staring down the direction to where he was about to gear up, all he could think about was if his family was alright. He was caught between his instinct telling him that something was suspicious with his twin's messages and the inherent desire to believe that it wasn't something that his brother could do.

* * *

Obsession

**What keeps the pressure building?**

**What takes your breathe away?**

The week before the assignment there was nothing to do. It was an exercise of causing most of his brain cells to become apoptotic in disuse. Any equipment and tools provided for him to tinker with were basically handing Lego blocks to an engineer who was aspiring to build a monument. There would be more intelligence required in beating the tar out of his twin brother.

Instead of putting his mind off of the medical tests that he had asked for, the incredible ennui placed it into sharp focus. It was the worst case scenario.

Averting this thought from poisoning his already constantly furious mind, he focused on the documentation in his hand as well as the provided screens. They contained rigged camera recordings that was the feed for government data. It was important for when camera information was changed to destroy evidence or tampered with real-time. It made the prominent members of the rebellion not really disappear under the noses of the government in plain sight.

The important pieces there were recordings as well as real-time feed of his brother's family. He had to observe their reactions to situations, attitudes, their general routines for understanding just in case they were put through the high stress circumstance of a training session. Behavior observation would normally be classified under the level of interest called 'mind numbing to the point of stupor', but he was paying attention to this one somehow.

It was, he would tell himself, primarily because of his brother's mock-worthy life. Seeing his twin make a complete fool of himself on record was precious. Perhaps it even classified as blackmail material. Not to mention how amusingly fraud the scenarios seemed, almost like those pathetic shows on television and theatres. Such a fragile, pathetic thing to watch.

He tried to deter himself from analysing his preoccupation with the young woman who made the horrific mistake of marrying his brother. His sister-in-law now, he supposed. Not that any of his family ever registered in his head as family but more of a permanent nuisance. Only because she was a better sight than his brother, of course. He wasn't completely blind. Nonetheless, there were moments of creeping thoughts that he would call her such ridiculous words as 'fascinating'. Even in his own head, he wasn't really allowing himself that thought.

Being located in the tunnels, with no work, not even allowed to train with the other members because of his 'injuries', he was just stuck with brain-poisoning concepts. What he needed to do was get out, but he had to wait to finally have the documentation he needed to reintegrate. Then he could pursue his own ambitions without the rest of his family or the foolish rebellion dragging him down.

There was something about her smile though. The way she would embrace her children. The way she kissed his idiot brother. The way she would get angry that she turned cold and refused to talk. The way she allowed herself moments of sadness and misery, alone in her room. Her determination. Her weakness.

A few days into the research, that was when he decided that she was very frustrating. Because that was how he felt as he observed her, for no conceivable reason. She just was. As always, it didn't really make him throw his hands in the air and request for a different assignment. Considering things, a reassignment might change the date of his seeing himself out of those tunnels moved further down the calendar. Not to mention, he was too proud to approach his brother again.

There were many questions to be brought up when the superior happened to be inferior intellect than his subordinate but that was how the rebellion functioned. No wonder there was a totalitarian government still in place.

Eventually he had managed to tamper down his pathetic emotionality about the entire thing and conjured the block that distanced him from what he was observing. He was dismissive again. One time during his observations, just coolly noting anything of interest from the previous recording and then placing another storage device, something different from the usual appeared on the screen.

The pen in his hand fell to the desk, clicking as it bounced down the table. Mouth gawking for a time, he allowed that recording to stay for much longer than what was actually right. Finally stopping the damn thing, he tried to swallow as his throat felt dry. Breathing heavily, he stared in incredulity at the currently black screen. He was pretty sure whatever he saw of it was burned into his mind now. His face tried to express more rage about the occurrence than he actually felt.

Somehow he shouldn't be too surprised. She was one of the prominent players in one of the national games that many people profited off from their gambling and betting. She was famous. He had to begrudgingly admit that yes, she was attractive. Someone would have felt inclined, at the very least, especially given an opportunity. Some people were just sick like that. It wasn't as if her husband would be capable of filtering through all of the actions of his rebellion, otherwise whoever kept that in the recordings was going to pay dearly.

Wiping his hand painfully down his face, he tried to suppress the involuntary shudder that ran down his body. Even if his twin wasn't going to kill whoever recorded that, _he_ was going to. Especially now being forced to see it himself.

He was just itching. Itching to get away from his designated quarters, itching to get out of the tunnels, itching to get some chili fries. Running his fingers painfully through his white hair, almost as if attempting to scratch off his scalp, he continued to swallow and get rid of the irritating persistent dryness in his throat. But first, he needed a very cold shower.

**I want you to notice**

**What you've been missing**

**I want you to feel that,**

**Feel that deep inside of you**.

* * *

A/N: Hey, I updated. Whaddyaknow?


End file.
